


That's Not Me

by Schiriki



Series: What If ... He Were A Prince [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-08-25 13:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 97,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16661915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schiriki/pseuds/Schiriki
Summary: This story explores (like many others), what could have happened if Gendry was Robert Baratheon's and Cersei Lannister's trueborn son and heir to the Iron Throne (All the characters are about 7 years older than in the books):Robert and his court never came to Winterfell. Eddard only received a raven about Jon Arryn's natural death and accepted to take over the position as Hand of the King after him. Catelyn saw a matchmaking opportunity and so Sansa went to King's Landing with her father. Six months later Arya comes to court with her mother, who hopes, away from her brothers, Arya could be turned into a proper lady ... or at least finds a suitable husband, who accepts her wild spirit and keeps her from causing public scandals. But Arya has other ideas, and so the troubles and worries of Catelyn Tully only start.DOES THIS STORY HAVE A HAPPY ENDING?If it's important for you to know, check comment #15 under chapter 1 "The Arrival", where I am basically just saying YES or NO. So don't worry about spoilers! But you should probably know, I'm no fan of Arya marrying Prince Gendry and becoming his queen. So, if you want her to do that, then this is no story for you. Sorry.





	1. The Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This work is based (very very loosely) on “A Song of Ice and Fire” by George R. R. Martin and the HBO series “Game of Thrones” and I don't own the storylines or characters.
> 
> 2\. English is not my first language. And this story here is only my second attempt on creative/fictional writing - I never had training in creative writing, not even for a few hours in school - so please don't expect much!
> 
> 3\. This story is told from Arya's POV (except one chapter), but that doesn't mean you should take all she is seeing/hearing/thinking for facts. She is a 16 year old teenager, there are things she still she doesn't get/understand. Or things she doesn't care about and just misses to see because of that. And she is stubborn. So much, she sometimes even lies to herself to not have to admit the truth (to herself and others), so whenever she does that, be careful, dear readers! She is lying to you as well! Thus, you've to read between the lines as well ...  
> For example, she villain-ises Cat way more than Cat deserves - that is normal for teenagers who struggle with their parent(s) - but still, Cat has blinkers on in this story. Big ones. So Catelyn fans might not like what they read in this story (Sorry, but she is my least favourite character in both the books and the show!) 
> 
> \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> ATTENTION: I am re-formatting this story chapter by chapter. Meaning, I am turning the original Word document manually into HTML text, since I hate how auto HTML/this site automatically creates new paragraphs instead of a just a new line within dialogues - ripping my story into tiny shred-paragraphs with way too much white space! And also I am using this opportunity to fix some of the smaller plotholes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya Stark and her mother arrive at the Red Keep in King's Landing - both on edge after having travelled most of the way from Winterfell together in a carriage - and as soon as Arya can, she goes exploring and finds some cats to chase and accidentally stumbles over the dragon skulls in the vaults.

If looks could kill, she would have been dead multiple times before their carriage even arrived in the courtyard. Her Lady Mother had been glaring at her, ever since King’s Landing had come into view on the Kingsroad.  _If anyone had the right to glare in this stupid carriage, it was her! Not Catelyn Tully._ Arya was the one, that had been dragged from her home – to live in the one place, she didn’t want to see from the inside. The bloody Red Keep.  _Literally bloody, by what the history books tell … Sansa was lucky ghosts only existed in her head!_ Or else the this place – where her sister had been living these past six moon’s turns – would be one of the most haunted ones in Westeros.

Arya hated all of it. Its walls of stone in the ugliest red. The way it stood tall and arrogant against the sky, while right underneath, people lived and died in their own faeces – in the shithole called Flea Bottom. But the kings and queens of old days had filled their keep with gardens and orchards, so the royal family and all their highborn lickspittles didn’t have to wrinkle their noses over the stench creeping up their walls.  _Well, they still should._

The moment Arya stepped from the carriage – which had smelled of home and her mother’s subtle perfume – she immediately noticed the slight scent of faeces and rotting flesh in the air. Apparently, cultivating lemon trees and lavender wasn’t enough to banish the Flea Bottom odour. But living in the royal palace for years, undoubtedly had made their pompous noses conk out long ago – or how else could they stand living in their clouds of obtrusive perfume here!?

And apparently, her very own sister was now intent on becoming one of these perfumed idiots herself. When Sansa embraced her, Arya felt sick instantly. Though, it was hard to tell if that was due to her sister’s overwhelming southern perfume or her unexpected compliment.   
“Look at you! What have you done to my scrawny tomboy sister? You look absolutely stunning.” Sansa chirped.   
But it quickly dawned on Arya, _her sister was probably just complimenting herself_. After all, she was wearing one of the silken dresses, Sansa had sent to Winterfell.  _Of course._

Yet, her father assured smilingly, “Stunning indeed.” and pulled her into a tight hug, kissing her forehead.   
Like he had used to do back home, before he and Sansa had left to live in the south.  _How she had missed him._ Feeling his strong arms around her, shielding her from any kind of harm – and most of all her mother’s wrath. How wonderful, to find herself surrounded by his scent again. After so many moon’s turns, her father still smelled of the North – all woods and stone and soil, iron, leather and smoke.  _Maybe there was still hope._   
“The way you look, I wonder what’s there to be turned into a proper lady!?”   
“A lot, Ned.” her mother reprimanded straightaway, “She hasn’t changed a bit! Rest assured.” Lady Catelyn unmistakeably feared, her husband’s soft spot for their younger daughter might ruin her efforts to turn her into a second Sansa.

Arya could barely suppress her outraged huff. _She had just gotten her father back!_ Who she had missed so dearly. _Why did her mother have to ruin even such a moment? Unbelievable._

But thankfully, her sister intervened before things could escalate again – offering Arya to show her her chamber.  _Beggars can’t be choosers!_ It was the first opportunity to get away from her mother, and Arya took it. Without a second thought. And although, it meant to listen to Sansa’s over-exited chatting, about how marvellous life at court were.  _But anything was better than hearing their mother reprimanding her all day long,_ hence Arya urged Sansa to lead the way.  _Before that hawk of a mother realised she was gone._

And her sister didn’t seem to mind, she just babbled on. How she admired the queen, the princess and some Tyrell girl for their exquisite taste in fashion. How she and said Tyrell had become best friends, and how that had made Jeyne go green with envy. How she would spend every spare moment with that Margaery girl now. And rumours since would say the crown prince would marry one of them.   
“Of course, you must not spread such gossip, Arya! That would be entirely improper. But can you imagine, me becoming queen!?”   
_Hadn’t that been the plan all along?_     
“Arya, he is so handsome! I bet, even you’ll swoon over him.”   
“Certainly not.”   
“Oh, sweet Arya, how innocent you still are!” Sansa teased cheerfully, “There’s a huge ‘I told you so’ coming for you!”    
_Yap, definitively! Only it’s gonna be me saying it,_ Arya thought.

By the time Sansa had left her chamber – to let her ‘recover’ from the journey – Arya had actually felt exhausted. Mentally, though.  _How could her sister remember all these names, rules and shit?_  She had leaned against her closed chamber door, taking a deep breath, before she rushed to her trunks, _to finally put on some real clothes._

Luckily she had managed to outsmart her Lady Mother. Before her departure, Arya had put some of her old boy clothes and Needle under a false bottom in one of the trunks – which of course had been discovered during her mother’s inspection of the luggage. Lady Catelyn had fumed and Arya had ranted and pleaded, and ultimately lost their argument. But what Lady Stark hadn’t known, Arya had had an accomplice. Hidden in Jon’s old room had stood an identical trunk, packed with some layers of nice dresses, but underneath lay Arya’s real treasures – breeches, jerkins, shirts and two pair of boots, Jon’s old chainmail, a padded jerkin and some pieces of armour, her practice sword and a dagger. Thus, when their Lady Mother had been done chiding Arya, Robb had returned Needle to its owner and he and Arya had switched the trunks.

So, all Arya had to do now, was to quickly hide her treasures atop the canopy of her bed and rearrange the other contents of her trunks somewhat – so her mother wouldn’t notice one of them was suddenly half empty.

Afterwards Arya got out of her dress and underskirt and hid them under some other dresses.  _No need to give her mother a head start,_ by letting her find those items laying around on the floor. The nasty pair of uncomfortable shoes, though, the ones she had been wearing these past hours, she intended to get rid of for good. But first she slipped into a pair of breeches, a linen shirt, Jon’s old jerkin and her sparring boots.  _Time to explore! She needed to know her ways around this damn castle,_ and find safer hiding spots for her treasures – before any maid gets ideas about brushing off the dust of the canopy.

As soon as she was out of her chamber, she ran down the stairs in the Tower of the Hand and took the first corridor leading away from where Sansa and she had come earlier. Only stopping once, to throw the damn lady shoes from a window and grinning satisfied to see them disappear in some evergreen bushes – Arya found the stables, the armoury and the forge within no time.  _Pity, they’ll look here first._ So, she climbed onto walls and snuck through windows, exploring the interesting parts of the keep.  _The real keep._ And found the kitchen by literally following her nose.  _There would be cats to chase. It was about time to practice again._ Her bones and muscles were probably all rusty from the boring carriage traveling.

A few moments later, Arya followed a slender striped cat through a window to a storage room, where they disturbed an old black tomcat – a fierce one, lashing out at both of them.  _A worthier opponent,_ Arya decided and chased the nasty tomcat to the wine cellars. Soon after, he disappeared through a hole under an old wooden door – undoubtedly certain, he were rid of Arya now. _He was wrong._   
“Run, kitty cat! I’m coming for you.” she teased, while picking the lock with some metal pins she had found nearby.

And the old tomcat indeed proved to be a worthy opponent. When she opened the door, it sat right behind – on top of another staircase, leading downwards – swinging his tail and hissing, he challenged her. And she accepted, attempting to catch him once more. But again, he escaped and led her further down into the vaults of the Red Keep.

Arya was so focussed on outwitting and catching the tom, she hadn’t even noticed she had stumbled across the castle’s secret jewels.  _The dragon skulls._ The first ones she had passed had been so small, she had mistaken them for skulls of dogs or wolves. But then she stepped around a corner and found herself in a long vault, scarcely lit by a few torches hanging from the wall – their light barely reaching the high ceilings. And at the other end of the room, a pair of giant empty eye sockets stared at her – watched her step closer in awe.  _Balerion._   
“The Black Dread.” Arya whispered intrigued, when she finally stood in front of the giant skull – admiring its onyx-like surface, and couldn’t help touch its lower jaw.

 _Father was right._ It wasn’t like any other skull she had seen, more armour than bone.  _Because of the iron._ But what amazed her the most, _it didn’t feel cold_ to her touch, as if it still harboured some of the fire it once was.  _Dragons were fire come alive,_ her father had once told her. Actually, the whole room felt warmer than the ones before, she realised.  _Strange._ Arya was so fascinated by the dragon skull, she had completely forgotten her surroundings.

The tomcat, though, had seemed to find her sudden state of distraction insulting and decided to remind her, the two of them still had a battle to fight. He stroked past her leg and leapt onto the dragon jaw, wielding his claws at her. But that was his mistake.   
“ _Huh!_ Got you.” Arya had swiftly grabbed him, placing a quick kiss onto his head, before she let go of him again, “No need to be nasty, feisty old tom! You’re not the first and certainly not the last to face defeat against me. But rest assured, you were one of my worthiest opponents and it was a real pleasure to meet you. In fact, you’re already my favourite person in this whole damn castle.” Arya tried to appease the sulking cat, which had fled into the insides of the skull and was glaring and growling at her now. “Well, since the two of us are about to become the best of friends here, I think I should give you a name. And happens I know just the right one for you, you little black dread.” she announced grinning.   
And a deep voice answered, “Funny, I had thought exactly the same!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHY I WROTE THIS STORY?
> 
> I am no fan of trueborn Prince Gendry AU stories! However, every once while I read some, in hope to find one I like. But so far I haven't - except once, years ago - and sadly I don't remember its title/author anymore. 
> 
> And this story here was sparked during reading such a trueborn Gendry AU story. Said story started really cool, but like many Prince Gendry stories, Arya soon began to give more and more of her personality/wishes/dreams up and was about to become Gendry's queen (consort). Still, I kept on reading - in hope she would eventually rebel against her parents/Prince Gendry/courtlife. But she never did. And eventually one scene occurred and I had enough. I was fuming and scoffed annoyed, "Hell, no, that's not Arya! She'd never do that!" And I was so angry, I wrote a 'corrected' version, just for myself. To calm down that evening. 
> 
> However, this correction quickly turned into a chapter for a Prince Gendry story (universe) of my own and I had intended to edit and publish it as a one-shot-chapter the day after. But my mind had other plans. It wouldn't shut up that night abed and flooded me with ideas why and how Arya ended up in this situation. And so instead of editing my supposed one-shot-chapter (which is now the first half of chapter 11), I wrote chapter 1 & 2 the next day and here we are now! Angry writing turned into a 18 chapter + 1 epilogue long story - exploring "What if Gendry were trueborn and heir to the Iron Throne? in a way that I think such a scenario should go.
> 
> And please keep in mind, this is just my personal opinion: I don't like how most Prince Gendry AU stories go. The most start with a wild-spirited in-character Arya, but usually she becomes more and more submissive (out-of-character) and lets others push her into the classic lady role. She then either marries some other highborn prick (Ned Dayne/fAegon...) or Prince Gendry, becoming their lady/queen consort and keeps telling herself, it were okay. But it is not! Not for a person who despises such a life. Who knows, becoming queen of a country/lady of a holdfast by marrying its male ruler is not equal to being the ruler in charge (who gets the position through conquest/line of succession). And a lot of authors seem to forget that. But I can't see Arya wanting to be second to someone else. So, that is why I don't like such stories.
> 
> However, I can see Arya becoming Lady of Winterfell/Queen in the North, as ruler and not just as a consort! Still, even that I only want to happen, if Sansa, Jon (and in the books Rickon) don't survive. Especially Sansa and Jon, I think are better suited for the job. But if they would all die, I can totally see Arya becoming the leader in the North, and then even marrying Gendry to continue the Stark line. But I prefer Arya to be free, to do as she likes and where she likes. I love the idea of her eventually sailing west of Westeros. And I can totally see Gendry embarking that ship with her, since they made great travel buddies in canon (book & show). And the perfect scenario would be if Hot Pie would join them as well :)
> 
> So, just to be clear, I personally don't think Arya would ever allow her family to marry her off. I believe she would run away if they would try. Either before they got the chance to drag her to whatever place they want to find a husband for her or somewhere on the way to there or a few days after her arrival there. Just because I believe, she despises the idea of an arranged marriage and becoming someone's Lady/queen (consort) so much, that she would rather leave her beloved family than giving up herself. 
> 
> But because this whole story was sparked by this particular scene that happens now in chapter 11, I had to make Arya play along and stay in King's Landing until this scene happens. Or else this special scene wouldn't fit in anymore. So, please don't freak out about how out of character it is for her to let Catelyn drag her south to marry her off. There is a reason for that ... and that is chapter 11!
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> NEEDLE
> 
> In my story Arya's Braavosi sword is not the tiny slim tooth-pick from the TV show. I imagine it as shorter and more slender than a longsword, but the blade is definitively broader and stronger than in the TV show. And maybe Jon even made Mikken adjust its size to Arya's grown body at some point. Since Jon had only left for the Wall about half a year ago, the same time when Sansa and Eddard left for King's Landing.
> 
> ARYA'S PRACTICE SWORD
> 
> is not a wooden practice sword anymore, but one of real steel, about the size and weight of Needle, only with a blunt blade.


	2. The Vaults

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya meets a stranger in the vault, who offers to escort her back to the Tower of the Hand, thinking she's lost. But he's lying, Arya can feel it in her bones and so she tries to get away from him, but she stupidly had left Needle in her chamber.

_Seven hells!_  Arya startled, hearing the voice coming from behind the skull – where a tall man now emerged from the shadows.  
_“What the fuck!?”_ she blurted, reaching for Needle, which wasn’t there.  _Damn._ She stupidly had left it in her chamber.  _And why hadn’t she noticed him!? Had her senses become so dull? No!_  She had felt eyes on her.  _Bloody dragon skull._ “You think it funny, hiding here and scaring people passing by?” she scolded as the man stepped closer – hoping, he wouldn’t see she prepared to grab the dirk at his belt.  
But he only chuckled, “That would sound fun, if there were any passers-by down here.” he cleared his throat, “No, I meant it’s funny we chose the same name for him, my lady.” he nodded at the tomcat, who was now purring around his legs.  
_“My lady?”_ Arya narrowed her eyes in suspicion. She looked all but ladylike, thanks to Balerion. “You know who I am?”  
“Yes, Lady Arya, and I’m here to escort you out of these vaults.”  
“Yeah? And how exactly did you know where to find me?” she stepped to the side, so she could reach his dirk faster.  
“Well, about an hour ago, your Lady Mother noticed you’ve gone missing. And when nobody could find you, your father suggested you might have gone to find the dragon skulls. So here I am.” he bowed to her.

Yet, something about him put her on edge.  _He was lying,_ she realised, while she studied him. If her father really had tasked him to find her, he would have come forward the moment she stepped around the corner.  _But he hadn’t!_ He had silently watched her from the shadows.  
“Thank you, but there is no need for that.” she snapped at him, “I know the way.”  
Yet, he only cocked his brow, trying to hide a smug grin as he folded his arms in front of his chest, “No offence, my lady, but you look, um—”  
_“I look what?!”_ she demanded angrily.  
“Well, lost.”  
“Well,” she parroted him, _“I’m not!”_ and folded her arms, too.  
“Perfect, then maybe my lady could lead the way?!” he now openly mocked.

“My lady could!” she huffed and stomped to a door she had passed, when she had walked towards the giant skull.  
“My lady, that’s not the way out!” he called after her.  
“Who said anything about a way out?” she turned around and grinned, “I’m in no hurry to hear my mother’s chiding … and far from done exploring!”  
“But Lady Arya, what if they send someone else down here and find us both gone? What will they think?” he came running after her.  
“I agree, you should definitively stay here! Because if anything happens to me and they find you gone from your post, it wouldn’t look good.  _For you!”_ She confidently opened the door and was about to grab the torch hanging next to it, when he slammed it shut.  _What the hells?_ “How dare you!?” she hissed, glaring at him.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I have orders to escort you out of here, so you won’t miss the feast tonight. So, I can’t let you descend any further. Your family is worried sick.” he claimed, blocking the door with his arm.  _Liar._  
“No, they’re not! My father knows I can handle myself.”  
“But I don’t serve your father, my lady!” he retorted with an increasing seriousness in his voice.  _Was he losing his patience with her? Careful now!_  
“Then who do you serve?” she hissed.  
“The crown prince.” he growled, glaring back at her now.  
Well, until she snorted, “Then you have nothing to worry! Your master is busy choosing a bride tonight … he wouldn’t even know I was there if I’d actually attend.”  
At that he blinked surprised and frowned, “Of that matter you seem to know more than I do, my lady.” He sounded almost as if she had insulted him, “But if I were you, I wouldn’t be so quick at calling the crown prince an idiot!”

  
“Well, forgive me, but he must be one! He tasked  _you_  with escorting me out of here. And you completely suck at it! And not because I refuse to follow you out …” she huffed, “If I were anything like my sister, you would’ve scared me to death with all your lurking in the shadows like a thief.” she stated angrily.  
Which he again found amusing, “My lady, I didn’t mean to scare you—” he chuckled.  
_“You didn’t!”_ she hissed, “I said you would have, if I were my sister.”  
“Of course, Lady Arya, forgive me, for almost scaring you.” he teased laughingly.  
Causing her to clench her fists – tempted to hit him for being such an idiot.

“I didn’t mean to lurk in the shadows, my lady, believe me! I just wasn’t sure you were who I was looking for …”  
“Oh, come on! Even you must have heard the unladylike Arya Stark’s coming to court to be tamed and chained.” she snorted dismissively.  
“Well, hearing something and seeing it for myself, is two different things entirely, my lady.” he retorted amused.  
“Apologies, for my outrageous appearance!” she mocked, yet, felt somewhat embarrassed and fiddled with her messy braid.  
“No need to apologise.” he chuckled, “I just wonder, how am I to explain the state you’re in … without losing my head, when I return you to your Lord Father and Lady Mother.”  
“No need to fear for your head! My family’s well aware of my tendency for chasing cats.” Arya scoffed, somewhat proud.

“So, it wasn’t  _that_  Balerion who led you down here?” he nodded at the skull behind them.  
“Nope.”  
“Well, in that case your Lady Mother should count herself lucky! If you’d chased any other cat, we’d be searching Flea Bottom all night.” he snorted amused.  
“There’s a passage to Flea Bottom down here!?” Arya’s eyes flashed in excitement.  
“No. _No, my lady!_ ” he claimed, realising, she was getting an idea.  
“Bloody amazing!”  _Maybe coming here wasn’t so bad after all?_    
“No, not bloody amazing! My lady, your mother’s waiting for you.” he pleaded, “Please, just let me escort you out of here now!”

“Out of question.”  
“Why!?” he was getting desperate.  
And she fully enjoyed it, “I don’t follow weird strangers through dark vaults!” she announced determined, though, had trouble hiding her amused grin.  
“But how else can we resolve this dilemma then!? As I understand, there is no way for you to skip attending tonight.”  
“Sure, there is! All I’ve to do is walk through this door.”  
“And all I’ve to do is lock you up in here and get your father!” he nodded at the set of keys hanging next to the door.   
_As if that would stop her!_

But she had a better idea, something more fun, “A race, then.”  
“A race!?” he asked confused.  
“Let’s see, whose way out is faster!” she suggested exited.  
“Mine!” he growled stubbornly, “I’ve lived here my entire life. I think I’d know, my lady.”  
But Arya’s mind was set, “I’ll prove you wrong!” she challenged, “Come on! You wouldn’t have to explain anything about my  _state,_  then …”  
For a moment, he studied her in silence, unsure what to make of her suggestion, before he reluctantly complied, “But I want your word, you return directly to the Hand’s Tower from here!”  
“I swear.”  
“No detours!” he still wasn’t fully convinced, “And no more exploring today!”  
“Promised.” she growled impatiently.  
“And don’t get lost!” he obviously feared, she meant to outwit him somehow.  
“I won’t!” she tried to appease, _she loved a good competition._

Then of a sudden he seemed to get an idea, “Alright.” he smirked knowingly, “But If I win, you’re attending the feast tonight, you’re showing up in time, looking all ladylike and you’ll stay as long as the crown prince does!”  
_“Boring!”_ she snorted mockingly and rolled her eyes.  
Yet, he challenged unimpressed, “Do you accept?”  
“But if _I_ win, you’re gonna show me the passage way to Flea Bottom!”  
“Deal.” he laughed and offered her his hand. And she shook it. “Alright then, I’ll give you a head start. Off you go!” he teased.  
“Do I look like I need one?” she huffed, pretending to be outraged.  
“You’ll regret it!” he winked and ran.  _Bloody bastard._

Arya turned on her heels and ran back around the corner, where she had entered the vault, and all the way up, back to the door, where she had picked the lock and out through the storage room window, where she had found Balerion. She darted over the kitchen yard and the yard with the stables, back to the Tower of the Hand. Right into Desmond’s arms.  
“Are you alright?” her father’s household guard asked worried.  
“I’m fine!” she panted and freed herself from Desmond’s grip and turned around, convinced she had beaten the damn fool.  
But she hadn’t.  
  
_Seven hells!_ He was leaning smugly in a door frame across the small yard and laughed, “Enjoy the feast, my lady!” he mock-bowed to her and disappeared through the door – leaving Arya and the Stark guard staring incredulously at the empty door frame. Though, Desmond obviously thought the man had insulted her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t think Gendry was watching her like creep down there in vault. Imagine it more like that:
> 
> Cat noticed Arya was gone and went to complain to Ned about ‘his’ untameable daughter, and Ned probably tried to calm his wife down, by blaming the long journey and Arya’s curious nature for her unladylike disappearance. But of course, he had his men search for Arya right away to appease Cat. 
> 
> But when they couldn’t find her, a bigger search party was needed, so the small council/king got word of it and that is how Crown Prince Gendry heard of it. And gallant as Gendry is (or thinks he has to be) he offered to help. Which made Cat more than happy to see him so invested in her family’s well-being and Sansa now swoons even more, because her heroes from the tales and songs would do exactly the same, saving the (supposed) damsel in distress.
> 
> Though, when they still couldn’t find Arya, Ned remembered her interest in the tales of the Targaryen heroes and their dragons and so Gendry offered to go down to the skulls (As son of Robert and Cersei he needed some places to hide during his upbringing, so he knows the castle’s hideouts better than anyone else). 
> 
> And when he entered the dragon skull vault, through a door behind Balerion’s skull, he immediately heard the old tomcat hissing and howling and then saw the cat and Arya dart around the corner, and this sight perplexed him and made him stop in his track. And then Arya was in awe upon seeing the huge dragon skull, giving Gendry a good look at her dirty clothes and her messy hair, while she slowly walked closer. 
> 
> At first he doubted, this dirty girl in breeches could be the newly arrived northern lady who had lost her way in the castle. But then he remembered some of the gossip he had heard about Arya; probably from jealous court ladies/Margaery/Cersei herself who tried to make Sansa look an unsuitable bride for being a relative to such a 'wildling'. 
> 
> So, Gendry realised this strange girl must be Arya and since there obviously is something about the wild Stark girls that attracts the Baratheon men, he just couldn’t help but watch her for a few seconds, wanting to see what she would do. But then seeing her actually catch and kiss the cat and hearing her talk to it, he must have stood there with a growing grin, ready to burst with laughter over her unladylike behaviour.


	3. The Nameday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the festivities in honour of Renly's nameday, Arya is walking on eggshells since her mother is still pissed as hell for her earlier exploring in the Red Keep's vaults. Arya knows she has to appease her mother, or else she would find herself locked up in her chamber. So, following Sansa around like a pup seems the safest option to achieve that, but Arya is not Sansa and so she soon struggles to keep up the charade. She has to realise court life is even worse than she had expected and things go south rapidly when the stranger from the vaults suddenly stands in front of her. Arya clashes with a drunken Joffrey and decides after less than one day at court she is done with the Red Keep and its people.

Sansa had gasped upon seeing Arya all dirty and messy, and even their father had seemed taken aback by the sorry state Arya had been in.  
But Lady Catelyn’s first reaction had been a scoff, addressed at her husband, “This is what I had to deal with this past six moon’s turns, Ned!”  
And only then the chiding of Arya had started. And the threatening to throw the men’s clothes into the hearth, as soon as she would step out of them – which thankfully her father wouldn’t have. And even Sansa had seen reason, suggesting, without these clothes Arya would only ruin her dresses instead – and that were a far bigger risk for public embarrassment.  
“Exactly!” Arya hadn’t been able to stop herself from agreeing with her sister, which only had started a new round of scolding.

Though, in the end, their mother had run out of time, or else Arya wouldn’t have made it in time to Lord Renly’s nameday feast – and that would have indeed been an embarrassment for Lady Catelyn.  
“Don’t you think, we’re done here, yet, young lady!” her mother had threatened before she had left the room, so Arya could bathe.  
And Sansa had pleaded with her to behave at the festivities, stating, this were the easiest way to appease their Lady Mother.  _As if she wouldn’t know that!_  She probably would have been banished to join the Silent Sisters years ago, if their Lady Mother wouldn’t know, Arya could behave like a lady, at least somewhat – if she felt like it. Which she mostly didn’t.  _Acting like a lady was just … too stupid, pointless, useless, boring, nonsense._

And Arya had expected just that from the festivities tonight – absolute boredom to death. Though, she soon had to realise, boredom would have been the lesser evil. In the beginning, everything had been fine – well, as far as fine goes, if one is dragged along behind by one’s ambitious mother, who is pissed like hells, but showers one with never-fading smiles. That was when Lady Catelyn was the most dangerous, Arya could rarely tell, if her Lady Mother would still be mad at her by the end of the day – or in this case night – or if she had somehow managed to appease her by acting ladylike enough.

When Sansa had suggested to introduce Arya to the other ladies in waiting, Lady Catelyn had smiled and called it an excellent idea.  _But did she mean it?_ Arya could only guess, and had decided to follow Sansa around like a pup – hoping, it would appease their Lady Mother. And Sansa for sure would tell her right away if she did something stupid … and if so, there was at least a chance their mother wouldn’t notice.

And so Arya got to meet the famous Margaery Tyrell herself, and regretted it immediately. She had to realise, there actually were people, parading a false smile even better than her Lady Mother and sister. The so-called Rose of Highgarden seemed intent on being the centre of everyone’s attention – under all circumstances and at all times – drawing half the court to her like moths to the flame.  _Maybe these fools like to get burned?_  Arya didn’t, and within less than half an hour, her face hurt from constantly smiling at everything Margaery and Sansa said, and she soon wanted to smash her own head in at the wall.

 _Was this what her life would be now?_  Everything these women talked and cared about was somehow related to marriage.  _Ladies in waiting, indeed._ Arya now actually understood the term. All they did, was waiting – waiting for a man to marry – to dig their claws in like vultures.  _How could Sansa stand all this? She was supposed to be a wolf, too! And vultures only get what the wolves leave behind. Didn’t her sister know that? Didn’t Sansa know she was so much more than these idiots?_  Arya had never felt more out place than in this round of women, and that only made her miss Nymeria and her brothers at Winterfell even more.

“Sansa, is this really your supposedly wild baby sister? She’s rather the shiest thing in the realm, even quieter than our dear princess!” Margaery soon chirped. Mocked.  
And Arya couldn’t speak for the princess, but she had absolutely nothing in common with these women. So, even if she had wanted to, she wouldn’t have known what to talk about with them. All she could do, was to thank them for compliments she received and compliment them back – repeating herself about their lovely hair or dress or skin. Or she agreed on things they would say – but only if Sansa did – she couldn’t risk to embarrass her sister in front of her friends. Not, if she ever hoped to survive the morrow.  _Even though, it was stupid friends._

Arya felt, as if she were dying from the inside. She could have sworn, she felt her brain falling apart. Therefore, she was actually grateful, when they finally returned to their father and mother.  _At least they knew how to use their brains!_ Even if, she didn’t always like the outcome.  
“Oh, Mother, Arya did great with the other ladies!” Sansa announced overjoyed, “She was wonderful, they love her!” evidently proud of herself for keeping Arya in check.  
“Thank you, sister, your friends are indeed lovely. I adore them already.” Arya flattered, hoping their Lady Mother wouldn’t expect her to actually mean it.

But she never got the chance to try to decipher Lady Catelyn’s thoughts. Margaery Tyrell approached again, declaring how overjoyed she were, that she and her brother were seated at the same table as them – next to the dais of the royal family.  
“Lady Arya, this is my brother Loras.” she introduced.  _The famous Knight of Flowers._  
“Pleasure to meet you, my lady. I’d be honoured to keep you company tonight.” he offered and bowed to her.  
Arya had heard of him, mostly of his talents on the tourney ground – but thanks to Theon’s big mouth, of his close friendship with Renly Baratheon as well.  _At least he wouldn’t talk of marriage all night,_ even though his sister clearly thought him and Arya a perfect match.  _Or what else could she have in mind?_

Nevertheless, Arya soon managed to relax somewhat. Having more in common with the Knight of Flowers than with his sister, she engaged easily in conversation with him – almost forgetting the feast going on around them. They chatted about his tourney adventures, her water dancing and sparring sessions with her brothers and even discussed how best to deal with the bruises afterwards. So, neither of them minded, their sisters exchanged knowing looks.  _Fools, as if there were anything to giggle about._ But Arya didn’t care, at least she no longer had to pretend she had no brain. And by the looks of her sister, she hadn’t embarrassed the family so far – meaning, there was actually hope, her Lady Mother would forgive her sooner than later.

So, by the time, the royal family arrived in the Great Hall, Ser Loras was just telling Arya about an armourer named Master Mott – the best in all of Westeros, he claimed – and offered to take her there someday; to see for herself. Thus, Arya wouldn’t even have noticed the king and his family, hadn’t the Knight of Flowers suddenly lifted his gaze when they walked up to the dais. But apparently, didn’t Ser Loras find what he was looking for, he frowned and exchanged a look with his equally irritated sister.  
“What’s going on?” Arya whispered, seeing the same frown appear on Sansa’s face.  
“Prince Gendry is missing.” her sister explained.  
“And so is his uncle.” Ser Loras added.   
_Huh, fine hosts,_  Arya almost snorted.

“Apologies, my lords and ladies!” the king bellowed from the dais a moment later, “It seems, my brother won’t make it to his own nameday banquet. Apparently, is he and the crown prince currently still at the harbour, doing whatsoever … it’s got something to do with a nameday gift, is all I know … So, to my brother, the bloody fool!” King Robert lifted his goblet and the guests reluctantly joined him in his toast. “Don’t worry, my ladies, they’ll both join us later!” the king appeased the murmuring in the hall, before he sat down, digging his teeth into some pheasant.

“That gift must be something marvellous, if it couldn’t wait!” Sansa sounded dreamily, “Prince Gendry is always so thoughtful.”  _Yeah, thoughtfully avoiding the banquet._    
“I bet, it’s just a delayed ship.” Loras whispered, so only Arya could hear it.  
“Or maybe that _marvellous_ gift went overboard, alongside the prince and Lord Renly.” Arya suggested.  _More than likely, if a certain manservant was involved._  
“Well, I hope not! For both our sisters’ sake.” the Knight of Flowers chuckled.   
_Surrounded by love-stricken fools._ Arya quickly changed the subject and she and Loras spent the meal discussing horse-riding and jousting.

Until the king eventually called for the dancing to start – his speech already slightly slurring and the queen’s expression so sour, Arya halfway expected her to stab her husband any moment. Whereas Prince Joffrey complacently smirking announced, with his brother and uncle still absent, the duty to lead the dance would fall to him and he would be more than honoured to do so. He stepped smugly down from the dais and walked straight towards Sansa – causing Arya to curiously side-glance at Margaery. Though, to her surprise, the Tyrell woman kept not only a straight face, but even leant over to Loras and her and whispered, “They’re a perfect match, don’t you think?”  _Um, nope,_ Arya thought, but instead played the silly goose, “I could hardly know, my lady … having just arrived today and all.” before she glanced back to Sansa and the prince.

Her sister was indeed a sight to behold, gracefully moving around as if she were light as a feather.  _She would have made a great water dancer! Pity, though, she never tried._ And although the prince was an imposing dancer himself, his arrogance sept off him like an obtrusive perfume and made Arya instantly conclude, _a real highborn prick, that one!_   She didn’t like him. _Her sister deserved better._

Soon Prince Tommen – only fourteen – followed his brother’s example and asked Margaery to dance.  _Well, that brings things home to the other court ladies!_ Although Tommen couldn’t quite match his brother’s dancing skills, it didn’t keep Margaery from openly competing with Sansa, before more and more people joined them; including the princess.

Ser Loras then asked Arya, if she would like to dance – but got the hint, when she hesitated.  
“Please, don’t feel forced to accept! I’m perfectly fine, just conversing with you here at the table.” he assured.  
“Unfortunately, I lack my sister’s talents in most of the womanly arts, so as in dancing.” Arya declined, “I would only embarrass you, my lord.”  
Going by the genuine smile on his face, the Knight of Flowers seemed not too disappointed, causing Arya to suspect, his cunning sister made him sit and dance with all kind of ladies in waiting.  _For appearance’s sake!_

So, instead the two of them kept conversing at their table for a while longer, before the young knight eventually invited her to a walk in the gardens. Yet, Arya only accepted, after he had asked her parents for permission. And surprisingly, her lady mother had thought it a wonderful idea. Only her father had had a slightly disapproving look on his face – but for once, Arya agreed with her mother.  _Anything was better than courtly dancing._

Still, she was relieved to see, they weren’t the only ones skipping the dance and hiding in the gardens. Before long, Arya found herself in the prestigious company of several friends of Ser Loras. _Way better than stupid dancing!_ The young nobles showed her around in the gardens – which were beautifully illuminated by torches and candles hanging in trees – and where servants provided all kind of sweets and fruits and beverage, while jugglers, fire-breathers and other travelling artists showcased their talents. In Arya’s opinion this could have gone on all night, watching the artists and discussing tourneys, fighting skills and famous warriors with these young knights. Although, she wasn’t the only lady in their round, she was now evidently the one enjoying herself the most.  
“I’m glad to see you smile again, Child!” her father whispered, when he and her Lady Mother had found them, while strolling in the gardens themselves.  
And even Lady Catelyn seemed genuinely pleased with her, telling Arya, she were delighted at how well she and Ser Loras were getting along.

Unfortunately, though, dropped Arya’s mood about half an hour later. Rapidly. She hadn’t noticed the other group of young nobles heading straight towards them. Not until Sansa suddenly tucked her arm into hers, chirping, “Arya, may I introduce you to Prince Gendry?”  
_So, the bloody fool finally made it!_  Arya thought cynically, as her sister turned her around to meet _her stupid prince._  
   
Only to feel her jaw dropping and her eyes going wide an instant later.  _Seven hells, fuck._  
“Lady Arya, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you!” the crown prince greeted politely and bowed to her _… as if nothing happened!_  
It took her a moment to regain her composure, “Your grace.” she replied and curtsied just an instant too long, unsure what to say or do otherwise than that.  
“Welcome to court, my lady. I hope, you find life here to your liking.” he went on, keeping his straight well-mannered face. Whereas Arya struggled not to stare at him, in her attempt to read his mind.  _Why hadn’t he said anything?_  
“Thank you, your grace.” she replied quietly and was more than relieved, when Sansa went on to introduce her to Lord Renly – who somehow looked more alike the crown prince than his younger brothers.

However, as soon as Lord Renly and the prince had gone to greet Ser Loras and the rest of the group, Sansa and Margaery took Arya into their midst.  _Great._ She was still recovering from this unforeseen revelation, still trying to figure out what had just happened and mostly the  _why_  behind it all.  _Did he want to get back at her for mistaking him for a manservant? For being rude to him? Or what stupid game was he playing!?_  
“So, what do you think of my brother?” Margaery asked from one side.  
And Sansa whispered self-satisfied, “Told you so, little sister!” from the other.  
_Vultures, truly._ All Arya wanted to do in this moment was to yell and hit them. _All of them!_ But especially _that stupid prince!_ And the two idiots to her right and left.  _What did she do to deserve this!?_  She could barely restrain herself from lashing out against the two women next to her. She had to clench her fists to calm down enough, so she could master a fake smile for Margaery, assuring, Ser Loras were indeed wonderful company.

Thankfully, after hearing that, Margaery rushed off, chasing after her damn prince to shoo the other vultures away. So Arya turned to her sister, glaring as if she wanted to murder her and let out the huff she had been holding back.  
“What!?” Sansa purred innocently, “It’s not my fault, you swooned!”  
“I didn’t!” Arya hissed.  
“No need to be ashamed, I know _exactly_ what it feels like … I almost fainted, when I saw him for the first time. He’s just too handsome, isn’t he!?” her sister teased knowingly.  
“Absolutely not!” Arya dug her nails into her palms, glad Needle was safely stored away in her chamber, as she felt the anger boil up inside of her.  
Still, her sister went on, “You know, it’s totally fine to like a man!”  
_“But I don’t!”_ Arya growled.  
“Your blush says otherwise, baby sister!” Sansa went on unimpressed.  
“I’m  _not_  blushing, I’m fuming!”  
But Sansa just wouldn’t stop anymore, “And I know exactly _why_ …”  
_“No, you don’t!”_  
“Come on, you’re sixteen, Arya! It’s was about time for this to happen …”  
“Nothing. Happened. And nothing the like will happen!” Arya snarled.  
“Well, I beg to differ, sweet sister.” Sansa grinned and even pinched her cheeks, as if she were still a toddler.  
Leaving Arya no choice, but to forcefully push her hands away and to furiously blurt, “Fuck off, Sansa!” wiping her sister’s smug smile off her face.  
_“Arya!”_ Sansa reprimanded outraged, “You did so well tonight, and now this!? You really are hopeless!”  
“Well, _what_ did you expect?!” Arya spat and the two sisters glared at one another, trying to stare the respective other down.

Well, until someone of a sudden called, “My ladies Stark, aren’t you coming with us?” causing both sisters’ heads to whip around to find the crown prince chuckling amused.  _Bloody princeling!_ Naturally had his calling drawn everyone else’s attention towards them instantly.  
And hence, Sansa was right back in her lady-mode, all proper and smiling, “Of course, we are, my prince.” she assured, trying to hide the light blush blooming on her cheeks.  
Arya, however, didn’t manage to calm down just as quick. _After all, he caused the whole mess! So why shouldn’t she glare at him!? Just because he was some damn princeling?_ Nonetheless, she let her sister drag her along to the group, whose company she had enjoyed until a moment ago. _But that was over now,_ seeing, how close they were with that stupid princeling.  _She hated him!_ Arya decided.

And of course, that horrible Tyrell woman had to poke her nose in it just a moment later, “Lady Arya, are you alright? You’re suddenly so quiet again.”  
“I’m fine, Lady Margaery,” Arya replied, barely able to hide her fretted undertone, “it’s just—” she tried to come up with a plausible excuse.  
“It’s been a long day for her, after all, she just arrived today!” her sister swiftly intervened, probably fearing, Arya might actually lash out at her friend in front of her beloved stupid prince.  
“Of course, silly me!” Margaery sweet-talked, “Loras, why don’t you accompany the Lady Arya to that bench over there, so she can rest a bit.”  _Damn, was that woman good!_    
Before Arya could even object, she found herself sitting on said bench. “I’m not actually tired, Ser Loras.” she admitted sullenly, “I just had a fight with my sister, is all.”  
“That much was obvious.” the Knight of Flowers grinned.  
“My lord, I can sit here alone, you don’t have to miss out the amusements because of me.”  
“You obviously don’t know my sister very well, Lady Arya!” he chuckled.  
“So, you’re stuck with me!?” she shook her head in disbelief.  
“And you with me! For now, at least.” he smiled at her encouragingly, “I for my part, could imagine worse company!”  
“Same here.”   
Still Arya wondered, how her sister could stand this all day long, and glanced over to her older sibling, who was now nicely chatting with Margaery and the crown prince. _Maybe Sansa was a wolf, after all!?_  Arya marvelled at that scene, realising, her sister indeed was the only woman, Margaery hadn’t managed to shoo away from the prince. _Sansa was battling that viper of a woman as bold and smart as only a wolf could._

And when Margaery and Sansa eventually managed to separate the crown prince from the rest of the herd, Arya and the Knight of Flowers could finally re-join the rest of the group, who thankfully decided to wander off to see the contortionist, soon after. But Arya found it harder now to enjoy their company – and not because she had to share Ser Loras with Lord Renly from then on. In fact, the handsome lord of the Stormlands was wonderful company. He was kind and thoughtful and had a great sense of humour – and was just as eager as the Knight of Flowers to keep her company. So, Arya didn’t mind, they obviously only pretended to compete for her affection. _This was perfect, actually._ Lady Catelyn would be delighted to see her besieged by two suitors and Arya didn’t have to fear any sort of proposal coming from eeither of them. _At least not any time soon. This could buy her time._

Nonetheless, she felt somewhat tired of the whole charade, that life at court apparently was. Of course, Ser Loras and Lord Renly were great company and probably the only at the feast – apart from her father – who might actually like the real Arya. And she evidently wouldn’t mind to spend more time with them, _but not in this place!_ Where everything and everyone felt feigned. Where the artist in front of them – walking bare-footedly on glowing embers and broken glass – felt less like a sham than the other courtiers around them.

Yet, somehow these people just couldn’t leave her be … as if they would feel some urgent need to poke her again and again. _Like that stupid crown prince,_ who suddenly out of nowhere stood next to her.  
“I hope you’re enjoying yourself, Lady Arya.” he smirked down at her, “Since I intend to stay all night.”  
“ _Technically,_ I could've left right after the banquet,” she countered annoyed, “since you weren’t even there!”  
“But you didn’t!” he teased “And now you’re stuck with me. All night. I promise!” and winked at her.  
“And there you’re wrong!” she snapped, “I had a deal with your manservant. Not _you,_ your grace! And since _he_ obviously doesn’t exist, our deal doesn’t either! Therefore, I can walk off this feast whenever I like … ”  
Causing him to laugh and challenge, “Then why haven’t you, yet!? Might it be you actually like it here?”  
Though, before she could retort anything, Lady Margaery approached from behind him, “Your grace, there you are!”  _Great, the bloody viper agai— Wait, did he just roll his eyes!?_

 

“Lady Margaery,” the crown prince turned halfway to face her.  
“ _Oh!_ The Lady Arya’s here, too? I certainly didn’t expect that! I thought you’d be with my brother …” the Tyrell woman purred. _Seriously!?_  
“Yes. I was.” Arya realised somewhat embarrassed that Ser Loras and Lord Renly had gone to see the next attraction – leaving her alone with the prince.  _Fine suitors!_  Though, this time she regained her wits quicker and claimed, “But right now I’m actually looking for my sister. You don’t happen to know where she might be, Lady Margaery!?” Arya tried to sound as innocent as the Tyrell viper did. But obviously failed, going by the surprised look the other woman gave her, then.  
“Unfortunately not, dear Arya! Last I’d seen her, she’d seemed quite absorbed in a conversation with Ser Lancel.”  _As if!_  
“Well, in that case I better get going to find her.” Arya retorted, “My lady, your grace.” and walked off, intent to find Sansa immediately.  _To cook this viper’s goose!_

But she didn’t get far, since Prince Joffrey stepped into her way, “So, you’re the famous wolf-bitch of Winterfell?!”  _Really!?_    
“Indeed, I am, your grace!” Arya hissed and glared up at him, unafraid.  
“Quite a toothless wolf, it seems!” he snorted unimpressed.  
“Says the stag!” she stood her ground and hit the mark.  
“I’m a lion, no damn stag, wolf-bitch!” the smug prince corrected overbearingly.  
“An extinct species in Westeros, I hear.” Arya scoffed dismissively.  
“Was that a threat!?” he challenged enraged.  
“No, course not, my prince. I would never, _would I!?_ ” Arya retorted with an openly feigned smile. _Of course, she would!_  
“Wanna know what you never will, wolf-bitch!? Being properly fucked! At least not by _these two sword-swallowers_ over there …” the prince spat presumptuously, before he self-satisfied added, “You didn’t know, did you!?” evidently thinking that would shake her world.  
“How about, I don’t give a shit!” she snarled back, quick like an arrow.

That caught him off guard and dumbfounded him for a flash, but then he sneered, “Of course not, you’ve set your eyes on a far bigger fish, haven’t you!?” baffling now her in return.  _What the fuck was he talking about?_  “And there _he_ comes! YOUR DASHING HERO—” he scoffed, eyeing someone behind her. _Huh?_  
“LEAVE HER BE!” a man’s growl threatened, making her whip around. _Great, him!_  Arya rolled her eyes, as the crown prince stepped in front of her, glaring down at his brother. “YOU’RE DRUNK.” he snarled.  
_”No way!”_ the younger one snorted snidely, “I was just welcoming our court’s latest northern additi—”  
“I SAID, LEAVE!” the crown prince growled unwavering.  
“As you wish, BROTHER.” the younger one sneered, before he trolled off.

Whereas the crown prince angrily huffed, before he turned to face her, “Apologies, for my brother’s—”  
_“I don’t need to be rescued!”_ Arya snarled and almost shoved him in her fury, “I was handling myself _just fine!_ ” and stormed off herself.  
Leaving a puzzled crown prince and a horrified Sansa behind, _“Arya!”_ her sister called after her, aghast.

 _Damn fucking fantastic! She would be confined to her chamber for the rest of her life,_ Arya thought, as she fled down some staircase to a small terrace with a clear view over the Blackwater Bay. Finding nobody else there, she decided to stay – to clear her head in the cool breeze of the sea.

 _She would never fit in here. She just couldn’t._ She had only arrived half a day ago and was already done with these lying, deceiving and scheming people here in the south.  _She just wanted to go home._ Frustrated and fuming, she hit the stone balustrade in front of her, when she suddenly heard someone descend the stairs behind her.  _Could she ever be left alone in this damn keep!?_

“My lady, are you alright?” she heard a foreign voice asking.  
“Yes, of course—” she snapped. Before she saw, it was a young man with striking blond hair, she had earlier seen in Princess Myrcella’s company. “Forgive me, my lord. It’s just … too much wine, I guess.” she lied and turned back to stare at the sea – hoping he would get the hint.  
But he didn’t. “Are you sure it’s the wine and not Prince Joffrey’s unforgiveable behaviour towards you?” the man asked concerned and stepped closer.  _Great. Not just an idiot prince, but a gossipmonger, too!_  
“It needs a little more than that to unsettle me, my lord.” Arya assured and looked at him to prove she wasn’t crying or the like, “I just needed some time alone.”  
“Oh, of course! I didn’t want to intrude, my lady.” he quickly apologised and was about to leave.  
“Does everyone know already?” she asked and shook her head in disbelief over this place.  
“Um, well, I don’t know for sure,” he replied, “but I think it’s just us who were nearby at the time.”  _It would hardly stay that way._  “Gendry was worried about you, Lady Arya, but didn’t want to upset you any further …” the man explained.  
“So, he sent you!?” she rolled her eyes.  
“Well, um, yes … _and no!_ ” the man almost shyly admitted, “I wanted to introduce myself to you anyway. I just hadn’t had the chance, yet.”  _Another suitor? Already! Wow, this place was just one big circus of madness …_

“My name’s Edric Dayne, my lady. But feel free to call me Ned.” he offered kindly.  
“Like House Dayne of Starfall!?” Arya asked surprised.  
“Yes, my lady. I’m the Lord of Starfall.” he stepped next to her to the balustrade.  
Arya didn’t know what to say, _her father had killed his uncle during the war._ So, she remained silent.  
“I wanted to introduce myself to you, since your brother … well, actually, your half-brother—”  
“Jon!?” suddenly he had her full attention.  
“Yes, Jon Snow. He and I … we were milk brothers, my lady.” he stated, dumbfounding her, “You see, his mother was my wet-nurse.”  _What!?_    
“You know Jon’s mother!?” Arya asked incredulous, since her father had never spoken of her.  
“ Well, _knew._ Unfortunately, she passed away a few years back. I’m sorry, my lady.”  _Poor Jon._  
“What was her name?” Arya blurted – not even that had their father given away to Jon.  
“Wylla. And sadly, I don’t remember much.” he admitted and offered, “But what I do recall, I could tell you, Lady Arya … of course, only if you want!”

She hadn’t seen her favourite sibling in over six moon’s turns now, and in this moment – _in this insane place_ – she missed Jon more than ever. _But he wasn’t here, couldn’t be …_ so, hearing something about him was probably the next best thing. _Maybe she could send Jon a raven about this?_  
And thus, she told Edric Dayne, “Yes, I would like that, my lord. Very much.” She was smiling now and offered, “And please, call me Arya!” when Edric Dayne smiled back at her. _Genuinely._  
”Only, if you call me Ned,” he replied, still smiling, _“Arya.” He had a nice smile._

So, in the end, she couldn’t even tell, how many hours she had spent on that terrace with him. Listening to the few things he recalled about his wet-nurse and the place where Jon was born and telling him about her favourite brother in return – in what Ned seemed sincerely interested. Hence, it didn’t take long for Arya to conclude, she actually liked the young lord’s company. A lot. _Especially, since he was no suitor!_  And when a manservant approached, informing them, the other guests were gathering in the main garden for the fireworks, Arya was almost disappointed the festivities were over soon – but dreaded to return to the others nonetheless.

Though, Ned Dayne hadn’t escorted her back to Sansa and the crown prince and all these horrible people. Instead, he had introduced her to a smaller group of young nobles – which included the princess and Prince Tommen. Who both had instantly apologised to her because of their older brother’s behaviour. _So the tale was spreading. Damn._

However, the company of these younger nobles hadn’t been that bad. _Thanks to the princess, mostly._ She was indeed rather quiet – compared to Lady Margaery, anyways – and seemed somewhat shy at times. But Arya wasn’t so sure about that, _maybe she just liked things a bit calmer?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT WAS THE NAMEDAY GIFT?
> 
> I wanted Arya to realise in a less formal environment who the stranger in the vault was, but I couldn’t let only Gendry miss out the banquet. Renly and him look so much alike, so Renly had to be gone as well, or else Arya would have put two and two together instantly. Therefore I came up with this mysterious nameday gift at the harbour. 
> 
> But in case some of you actually want to know and since I only briefly mention it in chapter 5, here is what the gift was: A secret, nameday feast, thrown by Gendry and Edric Storm on a ship. 
> 
> Edric, being Robert’s bastard, isn’t welcome at court (thanks, Cersei!), but I imagine someone like Gendry would reach out to his bastard brother at some point, especially since he doesn’t get along with Joffrey, and the age gap to Tommen is quite big. And Renly always seemed a decent guy to me, who would care for his trueborn nephews just as much as for a baseborn one. So, Edric and probably some of Renly’s friends from the Stormlands (including Brienne) sailed to King’s Landing. Where Gendry and some of his and Renly's closest friends (including Ned Dayne, Trystane Martell) lured the birthday kid to the harbour to his surprise party on the ship. 
> 
> So, of course Loras knows about the nameday gift and would have loved to attend the party himself, but he couldn’t let his sister attend the reception before the banquet alone. After all, he has to make sure, no drunken fool disrespects/dishonors her - Olenna wants her to become queen - ergo her honor can't be questioned. So Loras is only surprised to see his friends hadn’t made it back in time for the banquet, with Gendry usually being the all dutiful prince and all. 
> 
> And they would have been back in time, if the missing Arya hadn’t caused such fuss, keeping Gendry from meeting the others at the stables to ride to the harbour.
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> FACTIONS AT COURT
> 
> There are several factions amongst the young nobles at court. Think of it like in highschool, there are a couple of groups of cool kids and many more of less cool people. So, the two main/most popular factions amongst the highborn girls are the one led by Margaery and the other by Myrcella.
> 
> In this story Margaery (21/22) has been at court for about 5-6 years. And she is getting desperate (in all those years neither Gendry nor the king/Hand has reached out to her family to ask for her hand in marriage). Myrcella (15) had thought to be friends with Margaery when she was younger, but now that she see is older and can understand those things better, she can see through Margaery's constant scheming. 
> 
> So at some point, less than a year ago, Myrcella had decided she had enough and stayed away from Margaery. And Cersei surely encouraged her to start her own clique, opposing Margaery's. And being the princess, of course she had people who gladly follow her around, and not just those who wanted to get away from Margaery's field of fire. Also, since Myrcella and Tommen (14) are not only close in age but also in personality, some younger girls surely try to get close to Tommen through Myrcella. 
> 
> So Ned Dayne introduced Arya to Myrcella's clique to show her she could hang out with less exhausting court ladies, if her mother would insist on her mingling with court ladies.
> 
> But, of course the men/boys at court also hang out in cliques. There is the clique around Gendry (21) and Renly (29), which includes Loras (23), Ned Dayne (18), Trystane Martell (18), Edric Storm (18, but only when they are not in King's Landing) and some other knights. 
> 
> Of course Joffrey (19) stays far away from Gendry and has his own clique, surely including several Lannister cousins, personalities like Lancel (23), who can easily be manipulated into doing his bidding. 
> 
> And Tommen (14) hangs out with guys of his own age group, probably the squires of the knights who hang out with Gendry/Renly or Joffrey.


	4. The Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day after the nameday feast. Arya breaks her fast with Sansa an their parents and is surprised to for once not be chided. Instead she even gets to hear thanks and two unexpected apologies. While her father makes sure her mother is not getting too exited about Arya's three suitors from the night before. Still, Arya knows, she is living on borrowed time now - eventually, her parents will expect her to choose a husband - and it's weighing down on her. However, on an afternoon ride with the royal siblings, she begins to realise, she is not the only one frustrated by one's prospects.

Arya had gotten up the morning after Lord Renly’s nameday, certain her mother would chide her again as soon as she entered the family’s dining room in the Tower of the Hand. But nothing the like had happened, her Lady Mother had kindly offered, “Arya, child, there you are. Come, try this juice, it’s delicious!” _Huh?_ And Sansa had cheerfully walked towards her. _Had she only dreamed last night?_  
“Aren’t you mad at me?” Arya questioned her sister perplexed.  
“Oh, that? No. Prince Gendry assured me, his brother said unforgivable things to you. Things, a lady should never hear! So, he fully understands you were in shock.” Sansa had assured compassionately. _What shock? She didn’t need to be rescued! What hadn’t he understood about that?_ “So, actually it’s me who owes you an apology, dear sister. And a _huge_ thank you, apparently.” Sansa had continued happily. _Uh, now she got it, this was the dream!_ But it wasn’t. “To make up for his brother’s awful behaviour, Prince Gendry invited the two of us to go riding with him and Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen in the afternoon.” _Seven hells, no!_  
_“But first,_ Prince Joffrey will apologise to your sister!” had their father interrupted Sansa, “I won’t have anyone of this household disrespected and insulted. Not even by a prince!” and the fury in his eyes had seemed to say, _least by that one!_

But that hadn’t kept Sansa from burbling on throughout breaking their fast, how excited she were and how _poor Margaery_ and the other ladies in waiting must envy her now, explaining, the crown prince hadn’t taken any lady riding in the past two years. “And all thanks to Arya, who would’ve thought that?” Sansa giggled overjoyed. _Then, maybe she should snap at princes more often!?_  
Though, their mother had obviously seen three more reasons for such delight, proclaiming, how pleased she were, seeing already three suitors showed interest in Arya. _Of course, that was the most important!_ And Sansa had naturally assured, all three were suitable and nice men. But thankfully, their father had curbed their enthusiasm, “She only just arrived, Cat! And let’s not jump to conclusions here, all three men have kept other ladies company before. Especially, Lord Renly and Ser Loras! Who I find both ... well, a bit old.” _He knew!_

Arya had tried to focus on her food, pretending it weren’t her future, her mother and sister were planning so fervently. To not ruin her first peaceful breakfast with her mother ever since they had left Winterfell. _She would be back on Catelyn Tully’s bad side soon enough!_ Yet, hearing her father – honourable Eddard Stark – lie, had made her look up from her plate and stare at him incredulously. Even more so, upon realising, the lie had escaped Lady Catelyn’s notice completely. _Seven hells!_

“Oh, Ned! Sometimes I wonder …” her mother had sighed and lightly shaken her head in disbelief, “It wasn’t a formal feast! They were all strolling in the gardens and neither of them _had_ to keep her company … but if you insist on someone younger, _fine._ For now that still leaves us young Lord Dayne.”  
“Actually, no!” Arya had had enough of them talking, as if she weren’t there, “He only kept me company because the crown prince asked him to.” _Since she apparently was in shock._  
“Oh, Arya, don’t be silly—” Sansa had chuckled.  
“ _I’m not!_ He just wanted to tell me about Jon, that’s all!” Arya had snapped and all three of them had stared at her.

Fortunately, that had been the moment the royal brat had come to apologise. And although, it clearly hadn’t been his own words and she doubted he had meant them, Arya had totally enjoyed to see the little shit squirm while uttering them. Well, at least, until he had offered to make amends. _Hells, no!_  
“Thank you, your grace, I accept your apology!” Arya had blurted then, “No amends necessary!” causing her father to gasp – he obviously had begged to differ – but Arya had continued quickly, before he could object, “You clearly were drunk, your grace! So, I’m sure you didn’t mean any of it. Just like I didn’t mean to be rude to you. And I’m deeply sorry I was!” _No, she wasn’t._  
And Prince Joffrey had gotten the message, “I thank you for your understanding, my lady, and assure you, there’s nothing you had to apologise for! And since you won’t allow me to make amends, please let me offer this, if you should ever need anything, I’d be honoured to be at your service, Lady Arya.” _Never gonna happen._  
They had both known that. Just like they both had been relieved, they hadn’t had to spend any moment longer in each other’s presence.

The time until noon, Arya had then spent with her father, who had shown her around in the keep.  
”So, you won’t get lost again!” he had said. _Why couldn’t her mother reprimand her like that?_ And he had asked her about Winterfell, and even how the wolves were. Assuring her, it were alright to miss everyone at home, that he himself would miss them and the North every day.  
“Then why aren’t we going home?” Arya had asked, although, she had known the answer.  
“We have our responsibilities, child.” he always said that, “Our House held and protected the North for thousands of years, and now this honour falls to us. To me and your brothers, and even to you and your sister.”  
But Arya still didn’t get it. _She would gladly protect the North and its people – fight and die for them, if necessary – just like her brothers._ She would have even joined the Night’s Watch alongside Jon, if that were possible for women. _Why could her brothers literally protect the North and she couldn’t!? She was a better rider than all four of them, a skilled archer and most of all a great water dancer, Syrio said so. She could protect the North, just as well as her brothers. So, why wasn’t she allowed?_ The Wildlings allowed their women to fight – spearwives, they called them. _A spear took away the advantages of a bigger and stronger opponent! And she was quick, she could learn to fight with a spear – if her small build was the issue._

Ned Stark and his younger daughter had had this conversation now several times, and each time he had told her, no. Told her, she would marry some knight or high lord and rule his castle and bear him sons and in doing so, she would protect the North’s future. But she just didn’t get it. _What if she died in childbed? And the child, too? How would she have protected the North’s future then? Then all her existence would have been for nothing! It just didn’t make sense._ And in the end, her father had tried to appease her by telling her, she were young and would still have time and named Lady Margaery – who was of age with Robb – to prove his point. Promising, he would give her the time to choose a good man herself. But Arya knew, she was already living on borrowed time. _Before long she would need to choose. A man, family, duty, honour … or herself!_

So, by the time she had to dress for the afternoon ride, Arya had almost been looking forward to it. At least, she would get out of this stinking city and this damn keep for a while, away from her mother and the likes of Lady Margaery and Prince Joffrey. _And most of all, there would be no suitors pursuing her! Tommen surely wasn’t looking for a bride, yet._ And to riding her beloved hunting stallion again, Arya actually had looked forward – her Lady Mother had barely allowed her to ride him on their way south.

And so she and Sansa met the three royal siblings at the stables, where Prince Gendry thanked them both for accepting the invitation and again apologised for his brother’s behaviour. _Though, not for his own!_ Hence, Arya let Sansa do the talking to him, greeted his siblings and then turned to her stallion – who obviously got exited for the ride upon seeing her.  
“That’s quite an impressive steed, Lady Arya.” the crown prince complimented, after he had aided Sansa mount her mare. But thankfully he refrained from helping her mount up, too.  
“Yes, he is!” Arya smiled – at the mount, not the prince. _Her only friend left from home._  
“How come a woman ride a mount with such a temper, Lady Arya?” Prince Tommen questioned impressed.  
“Because I can!” Arya proclaimed, barely refraining from rolling her eyes. Instead, she led her stallion demonstratively away from the step ladder, lifted her skirts and mounted up, before addressing the young prince again, “He was a gift for my fourteenth nameday, your grace. From my father.”  
“See, no need to worry, Tommen!” the crown prince chuckled. _Gods, she hated this smug idiot!_  
“My sister’s horsemanship is known throughout the North, your graces.” Sansa stated, while steering her own mount next to the crown prince’s. _Wow, she truly was grateful!_  
“Don’t hide your light under the bushel, Lady Sansa! You’re an excellent rider yourself, I hear.” Prince Gendry retorted, making the older Stark girl swoon, her head high in the clouds.  
Which again made Arya now actually roll her eyes, almost snorting, _for being Sansa, yes! And only since Lady._ As she and his younger siblings, with the two Kingsguard knights behind them, followed their older siblings through the keep’s main gate.

And while they rode through the streets of King’s Landing, Arya was more than grateful that their mounts’ horseshoes were so loud on the cobblestones, she didn’t have to hear the nonsense Sansa and _that stupid princeling_ chatted about. Just seeing his smug face smiling at her sister over and over again, made her want to hit him. His siblings, though, Arya actually liked. _They were no bloody liars._ Even though, Prince Tommen had made her feel homesick right after they had left the Red Keep, telling her, he had hoped at least she would bring her direwolf to court. _No, Nymeria deserved better! One caged she-wolf was enough._ Even Sansa had understood, Lady was better off at home with her siblings than playing lapdog at court. And thus Arya found herself missing the North, again.

But thankfully Princess Myrcella swiftly intervened, “My lady, you must forgive my brother! Turning fourteen obviously did him no good, he seems to get bolder and more impatient and annoying by the day—”  
“What’s that supposed to mean!?” the young prince questioned slightly outraged.  
“That you will come of age soon enough, and then you can venture north to see as many direwolves as you want!” the princess chided calmly.  
“That’s two more years!” Prince Tommen objected unappeased, sounding indeed impatient. And Arya envied him. _For men coming of age meant freedom, for women, though …_  
“ _Less_ than two years, dear brother! And you’ll survive them, no doubt.” the princess interrupted Arya’s sullen thought and teased Tommen, “So, in the meantime, you could at least pretend you weren’t in such a hurry to get away from your only sister, and instead you could show the Lady Arya some people in this family actually do know to behave!” eliciting a small chuckle from Arya.  
“ Forgive me, my lady, you really must think us all rude fools now.” the young prince uttered abashed.  
“Not at all, your graces.” Arya assured, “Your company is rather delightful.” _It was._  
The royal siblings’ bantering lifted her mood easily and made her take to them even quicker. And especially the princess seemed eager to show Arya the amenities of a life in the south and promptly invited her to go sailing with them someday, when Arya had admitted, she had never been at sea.

“Maybe you and Lady Sansa could sail with us to Dragonstone, Lady Arya? For our cousin’s nameday end of the year.” Prince Tommen even offered, when they neared the city gate.  
“We'd be honoured, if you'd come, my lady! Well, if you'd want, of course … I assure you, Shireen’s lovely and smart beyond her age. You and your sister would like her, I’m certain!” the princess agreed, “It’s such a pity both our mothers think her unfit for court … but that's absolute nonsense, if you ask me—”  
_“Us!_ If you ask us!” her younger brother corrected and snorted, “The only women from that island unfit for court is Lady Selyse herself and that red witch of hers!”  
_“Tommen!”_ Myrcella reprimanded.  
“ _What!?_ Gendry said that!” the young prince defended his blunt parlance, “And it’s not like it’s a secret …”  
At that, Arya couldn’t help but laugh, concluding for good, not everything and everyone at court was as formal as her Lady Mother and sister wanted her to believe.  
“Apologies, my lady, I fear none of my brothers know their manners.” Myrcella chuckled and Tommen joined in. 

“What are the three of you laughing at?” the crown prince turned in his saddle at that, “Are you already revealing my most embarrassing secrets to Lady Arya?”  
“Oh, get over yourself, big brother!” Tommen teased, laughing even more. _And soon, please!_  
“Yeah, not everything is about you, Gendry!” Myrcella agreed.  
“I heard my name!” their older brother protested playfully, “Didn’t I, Lady Sansa?”  
“Yes, my prince. But I’m sure, they only said the nicest things.” her sister appeased smiling, as they rode through the gate.  
“Your sibling, perhaps. But I wouldn’t be so sure about mine, my lady!” the crown prince taunted. _Try the other way around, stupid!_ He turned in his saddle once more, to make sure his siblings heard him, “Pity, I can’t spill any beans about them, Lady Sansa … oh, wait, _I can!_ Care to hear some really hilarious stories?”  
“I’d love to!” Sansa assured happily.

And both of them broke into a quick canter, pretending to get out of their younger siblings’ earshot.  
”Nice try, Gendry, maybe next time!” Prince Tommen called, when the three of them caught up to them a moment later.  
And although, she and her steed craved for way more than a short canter, Arya assumed, _this was as good as things would get in this company_ and planned already to convince her Lord Father of letting her go riding with Harwin the next day.  
So, when about an hour later a small inn came into view and the crown prince suggested, “We could get some rest and refreshments here, before we return to the Red Keep. What do you think, my ladies?” Arya was all but surprised, just disappointed. _So, this was it?_

However, what happened then, indeed caught her off-guard.  
“Though, it’s kind of a shame that marvellous stallion of your sister won’t be exercised properly, Lady Sansa.” the crown prince stated out of a sudden. _What!?_ “I’d gladly offer to change that, in order to make amends for my brother’s awful behaviour. Would you mind, my lady?” _Over my dead body!_  
“No, I think it an excellent idea, my prince! We surely can spare you for a little while.” Sansa agreed. _What!? How dare she!_    
“Your grace, I thank you for the offer, but my steed doesn’t like to be ridden by strangers. He’s kind of stubborn.” Arya objected sullenly.  
“Oh, no, Lady Arya, you misunderstood me. I’d thought you’d join me for a quick ride to that old oak tree atop the hill over there.” _Bloody bastard!_ “Unless, of course, you feel too tired, my lady?” the crown prince challenged.  
“I’m not tired!” Arya growled offended.  
“Then it’s settled!” he smirked confidently, “A race.”  
“No, it’s not! I can’t leave my sister here alo—”  
“Don’t be silly, Arya! I’m not alone.” Sansa rolled her eyes.  
And Myrcella added, “Rest assured, Tommen and I will keep your sister company and the Kingsguard will keep her just as safe as us, Lady Arya.”

“Well, it’s not only my sister’s reputation that’s at stake here!” Arya countered furiously.  
“ _Arya!_ You can hardly mean to imply the crown prince would have anything else in mind than giving both your stallions the exercise they crave!” Sansa chided outraged. _Oh, you bet!_  
“It’s just a few leagues, my lady! We’ll be back within half an hour. And I assure you, your honour won’t be questioned upon your return. Our siblings can see us the whole way there and back.” the crown prince appeased amused. _Son of a bitch. He’d planned this!_  
“Fine, I’ll race you, your grace!” Arya huffed and then snorted, “Want a head start?”  
_“Arya!”_ Sansa reprimanded again.  
But the crown prince grinned contently, “Do I look like I need one, Lady Arya?”  
“Yes!” she smirked and darted over the meadows, barely hearing Sansa’s anew chiding.

Arya turned in her saddle, seeing him gaining ground. _Fool!_ She wanted him to catch up and only then go full speed. _She was no cheat. Like him! And this time she would get to see his dumb face!_ Her mount was younger and leaner and the prouder stallion, he would rather die than lose a race. While Arya wasn’t just the lighter rider, but evidently the better horseman. And most of all, the two of them had raced smug fools like _that stupid prince_ before. So, by the time he arrived atop the hill, Arya’s steed was demonstratively grazing and she leaned against the oak tree’s trunk, mirroring his smug grin from the day before.  
“You’re late, your grace!” she announced and bowed to him to mock him even further.  
“I can see that!” he burst into laughter.

But what he hadn’t seen coming, was how quickly her grin vanished, making way for the rage that had been boiling inside of her since the day before. _“So, here I am!”_ she snapped, “What do you want!? My help to woo my sister? _Fine!_ Anything to teach that Tyrell viper a lesson!”  
“Um, that teaching a lesson sounds tempting, …” he stammered over her sudden outburst, “but I’d honestly just thought you might like to go riding … a real ride, I mean. I thought it might be a good way to make up for my brother’s behaviour … and your sister agreed.”  
“And what about your own behaviour, your grace!?” she spat.  
“What do you mean?” he knew exactly what she meant.  
“Not telling me who you were, stupid!” she hissed, “I hope you enjoyed my dumb face last night! Because thanks to you, now everyone thinks I’d be swooning over you …”  
“Which you're not?” he taunted, showing that annoying smug grin of his again.  
“No, of course not!” she snarled, fuming.  
“And I like that!” he chuckled. _Huh?_  
“Then why pretend we hadn’t met before?” she frowned annoyed.  
“Maybe I like the two of us sharing a secret?” he teased again.  
_“Rubbish!”_ she had enough and got back onto her horse to return to the inn.

“I did it to protect you.” he claimed, bringing his steed up next to hers.  
“Liar!”  
“I’m not lying.” he appeased.  
“Doesn’t matter. Since I told you, I can handle myself. I don’t need you to protect me!” she huffed, “In fact, you’re lucky you’re still alive! I almost stabbed you.”  
“I didn’t realise you were armed, then.” he seemed surprised and studied her as if wondering, if she carried a hidden blade.  
“You were, stupid!” she rolled her eyes, not liking his gaze on her.  
“You’d kill a man with his own blade?” he chuckled.  
“Without blinking.” she huffed, eliciting another chuckle from him. “I’m serious!” she glared at him.

“So am I, my lady.” he stated, suddenly all waggishness gone, “There are people at court who’d do anything to gain power.”  
“You mean Lady Margaery?”  
“Yeah, but not exclusively.” he sighed.  
“Then why don’t send her away?” Arya frowned.  
“Don’t you think I’d done so, if I could? If it wouldn’t insult whole House Tyrell?” he huffed and was silent for a moment, “There’s only one way to make her back off.”  
_Which is?_ Arya studied him quizzically.  
“Marry someone else!” he answered her question quietly, as if she had actually spoken it out.  
“Then why not do that? Marry someone else?” Arya retorted, not really understanding what his problem was. The whole damn court was full of willing— _silly geese._ “Marry my sister!” Arya blurted, realising, Sansa was indeed his best option, “She’s not as stupid as you think, you need a brain to play that dumb, you know!”  
At that, he chuckled again, yet, no longer cheerful, almost sad. “My lady, I think your sister’s one of the smartest women at court ... in the Seven Kingdoms, even!” he paused, “You know, there were other girls, not quite so clever! And they disappeared rather quickly … married off or removed from court in dishonour. So, believe me, Lady Arya, you don’t want anyone to know, you and I had met in the vaults, _alone._ Since so far, your sister’s the only one who outwitted ‘the viper’ – as you so aptly call her – for so long.”

“That’s because Sansa’s a wolf! She’s like Lady, sweet and kind. But that doesn’t mean she won’t bite your head off, if you provoke her enough.” Arya explained, somehow proud of her sister now.  
“I know.”  
“So, what’re you waiting for? You’ll hardly find a more beautiful bride!” Arya snorted, now almost certain he were an idiot.  
“You surprise me, Lady Arya!” he chuckled, more cheerful again, “As I’d understood the Stark sisters fight like cats and dogs. Yet, here you are, championing your sister …” he even smiled at her now. Without taunting, for once.  
“Just because I don’t like her, doesn’t mean I don’t love her!” Arya snapped, seeing his smile widen. And it irritated her, so she growled quickly, “And I won’t have her disrespected or disgraced! By neither you nor that Tyrell snake.”  
“I have no intentions to do that!” he claimed, getting more serious again, “It’s just, um … well, I’m not sure about your sister’s feelings towards me, my lady.” he hesitated for a moment, as if he feared to turn her against him about this, “I’m not saying she’s doing it deliberately … to mislead me, like others do. But I think Lady Sansa’s more smitten with the idea of marrying the future king than actually with me!”

“And you want her to love you?” Arya asked after a while, studying him, as he thought of an reply.  
“Well, um, I guess, somehow I’d hoped to find someone, who, you know, _loves_ all of me, not just the crown …” he squirmed, unmistakably hating to use the word ‘love’ in this context.  
Arya would have laughed at him for that, but his serious expression and the fact, that he apparently was about to reject Sansa, had kept her from doing so.  
”And with your sister,” he went on reluctantly, “please, don't get me wrong, Lady Arya, I really like her, _I do,_ but …”  
Arya narrowed her eyes, not liking where this was going. _Sansa was still her sister!_  
“well, somehow I'm glad she isn't in love with me! Since, um, I'm not sure I could return the affection—” he revealed at last.  
_“Then you’re an idiot!”_ Arya spat and made her steed race back to the inn, feeling as if he had insulted her sister – although, she somehow knew he was right about Sansa’s feelings.

So, in the end, the ride back to the Red Keep had been quite the same as before, the crown prince and Sansa had led the way and the younger siblings followed behind – Arya sullen as before the ride. Only now she brooded over what the crown prince had said. About Margaery. And about Sansa. _Stupid bull-headed prince!_

Upon their arrival at the stables, he had offered to find a stable boy able to exercise her stallion adequately – obviously meant to appease her. But she had declined, saying, their household guard Harwin deserved that honour, who had raised and trained the steed. So, Arya had only thanked him and his siblings for the invitation to the ride and had let Sansa do the sweet-talking, as he escorted them back to the Tower of the Hand. Otherwise, she had remained silent, well, until her sister had been about to disappear into her chamber to bathe before supper. Then Arya had blurted, “Sansa, why are you friends with Margaery?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PUBLIC GENDRY VS. PRIVATE GENDRY
> 
> In this chapter, Arya got another glimpse of the real Gendry. Like Ned Stark has a lord voice to use in public, Gendry in this story has a prince face, which he wears like an invisible armour to protect himself and the people and things he cares about (like celebrities do in public).
> 
> His younger siblings do it as well, but they are still so young, only 14 an 15, and also they're not the heir to the throne, hence their guard isn't as far up as Gendry's (yet). Also, they can count on their big brother's protection and can hide behind him, if necessary - without anyone thinking them weak. But Gendry is eldest and heir to the throne and a grown man, he can't hide behind anyone anymore or he would look weak - which he can't afford, if he wants to become a strong and independent king. Therefore he wears this prince face, to not let anyone see his vulnerability and weaknesses who might use it against him.
> 
> And that is why there is such a huge difference between how Gendry acts when others are around and how he is when he is alone with Arya. And she really only got tiny glimpses of who he really is. But from now on she slowly begins to understand there is more to him than what he had let her see of him so far. 
> 
> However, her low self-esteem (she's Arya Horseface and can't imagine a man could choose her over beautiful Sansa) and her frustration over being in the south and forced to behave like a lady now, still cloud her judgement when it comes to him. So, she doesn't understand and can't believe him, when he shows her his true self. And rather thinks the thing in the vault was just a prank he played on her and that he is a bored spoiled princeling.
> 
> And Gendry had already at the nameday feast realised, Arya is pissed at him for not having told her who he is. But he is already fascinated by her - she is so different from the other women at court - therefore he wants to get to know her better. Yet, senses he can only do that, if he gets her to like him and trust him at least somewhat. So, in hope to achieve that, he decided to go with more honesty from now on. After all pretending, he would actually consider to marry Sansa, would make Arya think he weren't interested in her. Also, Gendry sensed she would only hate him more, if he had let her believe he were interested in Sansa when he is not.
> 
> Unfortunately though for him, he didn't think of Arya's sense of protectiveness about literally everyone she considers a member of her pack. So being honest with her and telling her, he doesn't love Sansa and never could, hurt her because she knows it would hurt Sansa. Yes, Arya senses Sansa doesn't really love Gendry, but she still thinks it would break Sansa's heart if she ever found out Gendry could never fall in love with her. And no matter how annoying she finds Sansa, they are sisters and Arya doesn't want her to get hurt. And so, even though she deep down appreciates his honesty, she still snaps at Gendry again and completely retreats from him once more. She is a wolf and she has to side with her pack, if one of them is in danger of getting hurt. 
> 
> But Gendry's crush on Arya only got worse because of that and he now seriously begins to consider to woo her - since suddenly marriage doesn't sound as bad anymore, as it had when Margaery still was his only/best option.


	5. The Wolf Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the fortnights after her arrival, Myrcella takes Arya under her wings - to the great pleasure of Catelyn and the absolute displeasure of Margaery. However, even though, Arya appreciates Myrcella's friendship and likes spending time with her, it doesn't change the fact, that Arya feels out of place at court, especially in the females only activities. 
> 
> And with more and more suitors popping up, she begins to feel like unprotected game and is grateful to have found a true friend in Ned Dayne, whose regular company keeps some of her actual suitors at bay. But also Renly and Loras aren't yet willing to give up on their menage-a-trois - especially after Arya generously provides them some time alone. And in doing, she stumbles upon someone entirely new. Someone who reminds her of home - more than anyone else in the south, apart from her father and her steed.

After her conversation with her sister, Arya was even more intent on avoiding the company of Lady Margaery and was grateful, Princess Myrcella invited her to join her circle, whenever her Lady Mother made her attend any women only activities. Unfortunately, though, that resulted in Lady Catelyn making her attend even more of them, claiming, now that Arya had gained the princess’s favour, she had to make sure, she kept it.

The princess had proven to be generous and thoughtful from the start, and didn’t seem to mind, Arya was struggling with court rules and court politics. Nevertheless, over the following couple of fortnights, she subtly provided Arya insight into the political dynamics at court – so she could avoid some of the accidental embarrassments, some courtiers were hoping for. Like, when Arya had accepted invitations for a walk in the gardens from three ladies, and in her attempt to kill two birds with one stone, had arranged a stroll of four – unaware of the hostility between two of the ladies until then.

And thus, Arya slowly began to understand life at court. But naturally, it didn’t change the fact, that she hated it – especially the females only activities, where she felt the most out of place. _What did her mother expect? She hated all these things in Winterfell, why should a change of scenery correct that?_ All these strolls and silly conversations, boring reading sessions, and most of all these awful embroidery sessions, couldn’t fulfil her. And never would. _That just wasn’t her!_

So, of course, Arya couldn’t overcome temptation to sneak away whenever she saw a chance, to slip into her boy clothes and wander the keep almost incognito – _to feel like herself again._ As in Winterfell, she befriended stable boys and kitchen staff, who in fact provided even better intel on the dynamics at court, especially the latest gossip. But Arya didn’t care about rumours, what she cared about was getting to know the place. Like finding faster ways to the dragon skull vault to spend time with Balerion – but she only went there when she was halfway certain, she wouldn’t stumble upon that bull-headed prince again. And she now always checked the dark corners before she battled the tomcat again, who seemed to enjoy playing around with her like that – probably due to the delicacies she offered him afterwards, when they negotiated for peace. The old tom showed her even willingly around in the other vaults after a while. And one of them – full with old dragon-ornamented furniture and tapestries – Arya chose as her secret practice ground and hideout for her treasures.

But all that didn’t solve her ultimate problem. That she was in this place, that she hated, for a reason she hated even more. And the more time passed, the more suitors popped up – real ones now. Arya loathed each and every one of them, but none as much a that old childless riverlord. Who had assumed, having fought side by side with her Tully grandfather would grant him her hand in marriage. After all, she only were a second daughter and last in line for Winterfell, he had argued.  
”I could just as well marry my uncle Blackfish, then!” Arya had countered furiously and had threatened to gouge the man’s eyes out, if he ever so much as looked into her or her sister’s direction again.  
Of course, he had gone straight to her mother then, demanding an apology – certain Arya would need to reconsider. And indeed, Catelyn Tully had been furious, but for once not at her daughter. Sadly, though, her mother hadn’t agreed with Arya on her other suitors – mostly younger sons of lesser houses. But thankfully had her three original suitors been unwilling to step aside, just yet.

Two days after Lord Renly’s nameday, Ned Dayne had invited Arya for a stroll in the gardens and it quickly had become a routine for them, a pleasant one – and not only because Ned’s regular company kept her other suitors at bay. Arya truly enjoyed his company. He was smart and kind, and seemed to be one of only a handful people at court without secret agendas. And although, he was friends with the crown prince, Lord Renly, Ser Loras and the other prestigious young knights, he was way quieter than them, even shy at times and yet, somehow more settled than his older friends. But what Arya enjoyed the most, was, that Ned – a great horseman himself – kept inviting her to riding. Thrice a sennight, at least. At first, his squire and Jeyne Poole had been tasked to chaperone them, but Lady Catelyn had soon agreed, Harwin were better suited for the task. Hence, Arya and her stallion could go riding for real again – and even without being chided for returning rosy-cheeked and with a loosened braid afterwards. The prospect of young Lord Dayne asking for Arya’s hand, had made Catelyn Tully more indulgent to her escapades than ever before. Yet, her mother’s hopes were in vain. Ned Dayne not even once mentioned marriage. Proving to Arya, he was a true friend indeed.

Lord Renly and Ser Loras on the other hand, had left the capital the day after the nameday feast. Apparently, had Storm’s End’s flagship unexpectedly sailed into Blackwater Bay on Renly’s nameday – aboard his bastard nephew Edric Storm and several more young Stormlanders. So, that had been the mysterious nameday gift, everyone at the banquet had puzzled over. _Not some marvellous actual gift._ Just Lord Renly’s closest friends hosting a small nameday feast aboard, since Ser Edric wasn’t welcome at court – as Ned Dayne later had revealed to Arya. But since Renly had planned to visit Storm’s End anyway – to celebrate his nameday with his bannermen and Storm’s End subjects as well – he had naturally ceased the opportunity and had sailed back with his friends. Accompanied by the Knight of Flowers, who had missed out the secret feast aboard – due to his sister’s refusal to attend official events and festivities without him as her chaperone. _Apparently, was the crux about her excessive craving for admiration, that some of her admirers might get too fuelled on liquid courage at times._ And sadly, had Lord Renly and Ser Loras not returned to court until two fortnights later.

After their return to court, though, had Lord Renly and Ser Loras instantly resumed their courting of Arya. They had invited her for a walk in the gardens just the day after, and even to a picnic at the shores of the Blackwater Rush some days later. Where Jeyne happily chaperoned – since both, Ser Loras and Lord Renly were known for their taste for luxury and entirely lived up to that reputation. The only problem was, any activity with them, especially at court, was always over-shadowed by Margaery. And Arya knew, if the competition between Sansa and Margaery were to escalate, Ser Loras, and with him Lord Renly, weren’t likely side with her and her sister.

But until then, Arya intended to enjoy their casual company. And was overjoyed, when Ser Loras indeed took her to the Street of Steel – to that armourer he had spoken of at the nameday feast. However, it came as no surprise to find Lord Renly and Prince Tommen there – commissioning new armour for the young prince just then. And of course, Lord Renly immediately suggested, he and Tommen could join Arya and Ser Loras for their sailing trip afterwards.  
“Actually, my lord, I suddenly feel a bit dizzy.” Arya claimed, “So, I don’t think sailing would agree with me today.” seeing instant disappointment appear on both, the Knight of Flowers’ and the stormlord’s face. _They obviously had misunderstood her._ Hence she quickly proposed Lord Renly should take her place instead – so Ser Loras wouldn’t have wasted all his efforts – and assured, she could keep Tommen company, while he commissioned his armour and would return to the Red Keep with him.  
“I believe, I just now came to understand the rare beauty of the winter rose, my lady!” Ser Loras kissed Arya’s hand delighted, making her blush in embarrassment over his corny compliment.  
“You are indeed one of a kind, my lady.” the stormlord added, before they both disappeared through the shop’s door.

“That was generous of you, Lady Arya. Usually, ladies insist on keeping up appearances until they found themselves other suitors.” Prince Tommen told her and asked, “My lady, would you mind, if we’d stay a little longer? Then Gendry could return with us?”  
“Um, sure, your grace.” Arya wasn’t exactly thrilled about spending time with his stupid brother again, yet, she could hardly refuse. And the younger prince was nice enough company, she liked him. Probably because he reminded her so much of Bran, however, the prince soon turned out a bit shier around females.  
When Master Mott and his servant girl were about to take his measurements, Tommen instantly blurted, “My lady, would you like to visit him in the back?”  
_“Who!?”_  
“Gendry.” Tommen chuckled over her confusion.  
“He’s here!?” she asked puzzled.  
“Yes, at the forge.” the young prince grinned and nodded towards the open door leading into the back yard.  
“Girl, show my lady the way!” the master armourer instructed his maid, obviously understanding as well, the young prince felt uncomfortable having women there.

Thus, Arya followed the slim girl into the small yard behind the house, wondering what the crown prince could be doing at the forge.  
“M’lady can wait here, I’ll get Gendry.” the girl said outside and disappeared into the big stone barn.  
_Did she just refer to him without his title?_ Arya followed the maid absently into the dimly lit building, drawn in by the so familiar scents and sounds of steel being hammered. _Smoke. Steam. Iron. Carbon. Mikken’s forge._ Although, the hot, steamy air almost took her breath away and small pearls of sweat instantly appeared on her forehead, Arya didn’t mind. _Finally, something felt just like home!_ Journeymen and apprentices were busy working at several forges – probably already preparing for the upcoming tourney. Yet, Arya soon felt their eyes on her, undoubtedly thinking, she were completely out of place in a forge in her expensive dark green dress. _If only they knew! She could stay here for ages._

Her eyes drank the familiarity of this place in. Well, until they landed on the bare back of the man the girl was now talking to. _Wait!?_ Arya frowned, as it slowly dawned on her, _was this—_ In that same instant the girl noticed her and nudged the man’s arm, making him turn abruptly. _Seven hells, it was him!_  
_“Arya!?”_ he exclaimed in utter surprise, and only then he remembered his manners, stammering, “My lady! What are you doing here!?”  
“Um,” she was equally dumbfounded, “Tommen, well, your brother, the armourer …” suddenly she truly appreciated the heat, feeling a blush creeping up her neck, “he’s taking his measurements … your grace.”    
“Oh, um, okay.” he replied, just as flustered as her.  
“I told her to wait outside!” the girl explained close to panic.  
Making Arya realise, she was somehow intruding, “I’m sorry.” she offered embarrassed, biting her lower lip.  
And was almost grateful when the crown prince regained his wits, “Don’t worry, Elinor! The Lady Arya isn’t exactly known for doing as she’s told. Isn’t that right, my lady?” he chuckled. _Almost grateful!_

He walked up to her, his surprised fluster slowly making way to a smile that was about to turn into his annoying grin, “So, my lady went exploring again, huh?” he teased.  
“No!” she felt like caught with her hand in the cookie jar and could barely look at him without blinking nervously. “It’s just … the forge smelt … sounded like the one at home, you know.” she admitted, urging herself to regain her composure, “I was just told you were at the forge, I didn’t know you’d be …”  
“Working?” he tried to guess the ending of her sentence.  
And she could only nod. _Grimy, sweaty, half-n… like that!_ Catching her eyes trail down from his striking blue eyes, she was glad he at least wore an apron. She swallowed tensely and got mad at herself, _get your shit together!_ But still dropped her gaze to the ground underneath her feet, a way less unsettling sight.

“So, you work here?” she tried to overcome the awkwardness when he to her surprise remained silent.  
“Sometimes.” he retorted calm, studying her.  
_“Why?”_ she felt completely stunned now.  
“It was my hideout when I was younger.” he explained shrugging. _Hiding from what?_ But before she could ask, he went on, “I was here so often, Master Mott one day jested, I could just as well apprentice for him.”  
“And so you did?” she asked, chiding herself instantly, _stop stating the obvious!_  
“So, I did.” he smiled at her again.  
_And you idiot, stop smiling!_ she wanted to snap, but instead she asked incredulous, “And the king and queen just let you do this?”  
“When they found out, I was halfway done with my apprenticeship.” he chuckled, “And Jon Arryn convinced them, it were a good thing. So here I am.” he grinned, but not in a smug way – somehow happy. _  
If she had tried something like that, she’d be a Silent Sister by now!_ She envied him, yet, found herself now smiling back at him. Amazed and somewhat impressed.

“So, how come my lady stumbled into Mott’s shop along with Tommen?” he asked, taunting her again, “Has now even my baby brother joined the Wolf Hunt?”  
_“What!?”_ she asked bewildered.  
“I was jesting! I think, I’d know if that were the case …” he appeased.  
“No, I mean, there’s a name for it!? As if it were some game?”  
“I fear so …” he bit his lip, trying not to laugh.  
_“Seven hells.”_  
“Seven hells, indeed!” he agreed amused, “First, everyone was afraid of rabies upon hearing the She-wolf were coming down south, and now half the court’s after you …”  
“I’m no bloody trophy!” she huffed furiously.  
“Don't have to tell me that!” he snorted with laughter.  
“So, with you it’s the Stag Hunt, or what!?” she scoffed infuriated.  
“Probably.” he laughed, “All I ever heard was a joke about your sister and Lady Margaery. About a rose growing strong for years, only to watch a wolf snatch her prey from under her nose.”  
“And you plan on hiding here until either lose interest, or what?” she mocked.  
“Well, obviously one wolf did manage to sniff me out here now!” he grinned mischievously.

“Yeah, one in need of a hideout herself! So, obviously, you have nothing to fear from me …” she huffed frustrated and then got an idea, “Can I hide here!?”  
That clearly stunned him and made him scratch the back of his head, as if at a loss of words, “Well, um-”  
“Just today?!” Arya almost begged.  
“Um, you see, when I’m here I’m just a journeyman … meaning, I’ve got work to do.”  
“I don’t mind!” she blurted, “I can, um,” she looked around and her gaze fell onto an old wooden stool close to his workplace, “sit over there and watch.”  
“You wanna sit there? On that dirty stool? And watch … me work!?” he asked utterly taken aback.  
“I won’t disturb you, I promise! Mikken and I usually talked, but if you’d rather prefer silence, then I just sit there like a mute until you’re done. You won’t even know I’m here!” she pleaded, her mind made up.  
“Fine.” he eventually gave in, telling the thunderstruck servant girl to bring some clean cloth for the grimy stool. “I won’t return you to your father and mother all dirty again.” he insisted, before Arya could object.

At first, he seemed quite tense over having her there, watching him, and soon blurted, “I think, I don’t mind some talking either.”  
“What would you like to talk about?” she teased grinning. Although, she felt slightly on edge herself, she somehow enjoyed seeing the usually smug prince so bashful now.  
“Um, I don’t know …” he scratched the back of his head again, “Wanna tell me about that Mikken of yours?” he suggested, studying her.  
“He’s not _my_ Mikken, stupid!” Arya burst into laughter, “He’s old and fat and happily married. He’s the master blacksmith at Winterfell, and my friend. He made my Needle, you know.”  
_“Your needle?”_ he asked confused.  
“My sword!” she laughed again at seeing his dumb face.  
“So, it’s true. My lady’s a swordswoman?” he inquired curiously.  
“Yap.” she grinned, enjoying the admiring look he gave her, then.  
“Interesting.” he smiled to himself.  
And soon the spell on him seemed broken. He evidently began to relax and even seemed to enjoy having her there.

However, seeing him now entirely focussed on the piece of armour somehow increased the tension Arya felt. _He was good! Better than good,_ she realised amazed, as she studied some of the other journeymen to confirm her observation. Mott didn’t just try to keep on the right side of the future king … _He saw something in him. He had talent._ And while he was focussed on working again, it dawned on Arya, _this was the real Prince Gendry. No, this was Gendry. No titles, no pretence. Just the man. Just Gendry._ The man, who somehow flustered and unsettled her like no one before. She tried to figure out what it was that was so puzzling about him, but looking at him only made things worse.

Her own eyes seemed to rebel against her. She wanted to watch him work the piece of metal, but somehow her eyes found him the more intriguing sight. And she hated it. Especially, that she barely was able to keep her gaze away from his bare chest and back. _Nothing there for you to look at!_ But her eyes wouldn’t obey. She hated, she was now noticing all kind of different things about him. Things, she had not perceived before. His stormy blue eyes, in stark contrast to his dark hair. The way he looked, completely focussed on the metal in front of him, his brow furrowed. And how he sometimes bit his lower lip in concentration. How his lips were just the right amount of full. Not too full, like the ugly, wormy ones of his nasty brother. _He was handsome._ At that, her own mind seemed to yell at her, _of course, he's handsome, stupid! He’s Renly’s lookalike, and you noticed the stormlord was handsome as soon as you saw him, you bloody fool!_

“My lady, are you alright?” she suddenly heard him asking.  
And found herself working her lower lip, frowning and staring at some set of tongs, “Um, yes, I was just thinking of something.”  
“More like brooding over something.” he chuckled.  
And only then she realised he had finished the piece of armour, “Are you done?” Her mind chided again, _Stop. Stating. The. Obvious._  
“For today, yes.” he smiled. _His nice smile._ The genuine one. _Stop it!_ she scolded herself once more. “How about you check on Tommen now? I’ll join you in a moment.” he suggested and she could only nod, letting him lead the way out of the stone barn. “And make sure he commissions some decent armour!” he called after her, as she walked over the yard back to the shop. “If I see him running around in fancy ornamented mirrors, I’ll blame you, my lady.” he teased and winked at her – already standing by the well next to the barn, then.

When she entered the shop again, Tommen had already approved the design Master Mott had drawn for him. “What do you think of it, Lady Arya?” he instantly asked her opinion. _No mirrors, but fancy enough._  
“An armour worthy of a king, your grace.” Arya complimented, noticing how the young prince's chest swelled with pride at such praise.  
And the armourer eagerly showed her some more examples of his exquisite work after that – amazed to find a woman and a noble one at that actually understand his craftsmanship. Nevertheless, was Arya somewhat absent during the whole time and seemed to quieten even more on the ride back to the Red Keep, but luckily nobody seemed to notice. The young prince next to her talked all the way – completely excited about the upcoming tourney now – whereas his older brother had chosen to ride behind them, with Harwin and the Kingsguard knight. _Thankfully!_ Of a sudden Arya had felt an urgent need to get away from him. As far as possible. From whatever he had been doing to her at the forge.

And she had literally dreaded to see him again during the following days. Since whenever they had coincidentally crossed each other’s path in the palace, she had instantly felt tense again. _Like a drawn bow, ready to loosen its arrow._ However, he had only exchanged the formally expected pleasantries with her then, like before her visit in Mott’s shop. And only in company of their siblings or mutual friends, he had briefly interacted with her direct. But the man she had talked to then had no longer been Gendry from the forge. Back at the Red Keep, he was the prince once more – all smug grin and everything else she didn’t like about him. Yet, somehow that had helped her to act normal around him again. Well, avoiding him because he annoyed her and not because he made her feel strange in her own skin.

Therefore, Arya had spent her time quite like before, with her three false suitors and the princess, mostly. And the latter had suddenly even more reason to spend time with her. Trystane Martell now openly courted Myrcella and spending time with Arya provided her casual opportunities to see her suitor. The two young women could innocently stroll through the gardens and _accidentally_ stumble across Ned Dayne, who then _coincidentally_ happened to be in company of his liege lord’s youngest son. Yet, that had only been the beginning.

Soon, Arya and Ned had not only regular company on their strolls in the gardens but also on their rides. The only thing, though, that puzzled Arya, was, that they more and more often met Prince Gendry somewhere on these rides. He claimed to return from visits at Crownlands’ keeps and villages. Or from hunting, empty-handed, though. And apparently, he even went fishing at the Blackwater – just as lucky as in hunting. But aside a Kingsguard knight he always was on his own. And somehow his stallion always craved some more exercise, making him decide to join them for rest of their way. Every time.

 _What was the matter with him? If he didn’t trust Trystane, then why not chaperone them officially? Why this whole stupid charade to somehow stumble across them all the time? Why not forbid their rides and strolls and be done with it? And why wasn’t Myrcella getting mad at him? Not once!?_ She clearly liked Trystane and understandably wanted to spend time with him away from the prying eyes at court. And Arya knew by now, the princess spoke her mind quite openly, even against her brothers. _So, why didn’t she just tell him to fuck off?_

Yet, what had bewildered Arya even more, had been, when she eventually had asked Ned about his friend’s strange behaviour, he had claimed, he wouldn’t know what had gotten into the crown prince of late. _And it was a lie!_ Arya had been certain. _Ned had never lied to her before. So why now!? What the fuck was going on!?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARYA & GENDRY & NED
> 
> Arya is still quite blind when it comes to her suitors, due to her lack of experience and her low self-esteem (after having been called Horseface for so long). She still doesn't get that Ned isn't just pretending to court her, and Gendry provides more than enough points of attack for her to flirt back, but she just doesn't get it (yet). But at least now she realised, she doesn't actually hate him, but rather what his presence is doing to her (mind and her body).
> 
> Thankfully, her accidental visit to the forge made things clear for Gendry now. His mind is made up and with his sister he even has an ally in Arya's inner circle. So, Myrcella keeps an eye on Ned's courtship and keeps Gendry posted about their riding schedules, so he can finally woo Arya himself (away from the prying eyes at court).
> 
> Although Arya's instincts tell her to be cautious now, that something is going to happen, she can't see or rather can't imagine it is all about her. That her soon two best friends in King's Landing could fall in love with her (and not someone more beautiful, more ladylike, more suitable) and would actually compete for her affection.
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> HOW WAS GENDRY'S LIFE BEFORE ARYA AND WHY IS HE SO FASCINATED BY HER?
> 
> In case you want to know that, check out my two very long replies to the comment of 'Phoenix' under this chapter. Sadly, it was too many words/characters to be placed here in my endnotes.


	6. The Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya is no longer the most interesting attraction for the courtiers in the Red Keep. Finally! So, she fully enjoys to no longer have all eyes on her. And with her three favourite 'false' suitors she has more than enough opportunities to get out of the damn keep, away from these nasty people there. In fact, she has a quite busy schedule now, meeting these three men and keeping Myrcella company. So, Arya's life at court could go on like that ... at least for a while.
> 
> But of course, Catelyn and Sansa can't refrain from poking their noses in - in Arya's budding love life, in particular. Yet, while she is still quite oblivious, she now actually has one, her mother and sister instantly read the signs correctly: Arya has a crush! Though, luckily for her, they suspect the wrong man as the cause for these symptoms. But Arya wouldn't be Arya, if she wouldn't still feel the need to teach them a lesson. Yet in doing so, she irritates two other people and that leads to Arya finding herself in the most unladylike situation so far.

In the following four moon’s turns, court lost somewhat interest in Arya. Seeing, she was far more civilized than the wild rumours prior her arrival had claimed, had been quite disappointing to some of these highborn pricks. _What had they expected? A fur-clad freak of nature, unable to speak the human tongue and lusting after human flesh?_ As they unmistakably lusted after scandals to overcome their constant boredom. But Arya hadn’t minded to no longer cause the big ripples in the Red Keep. That had soon been a Vale lord, who had brought a common whore posing as his wife to court, only to be discovered when said woman had demanded payment for her services from other lords. And after that it had been a Crownlands lady, who had been widowed for over three years, yet, had been with child of a sudden again. _… and who obviously never heard of moon tea!_ The courtiers had quite fun with that, speculating and betting who the father might be. But unfortunately for the gamblers, it never was revealed. Nonetheless, the gossiping and hoping for other people’s bad luck had continued, _like a never-ending spiral._

So, Arya had been quite relieved, when she no longer was at the centre of attention. Having no longer all eyes on her, had made many things easier for her – like skipping sewing sessions or at least sneaking out in the middle of it. And she finally managed to keep her attendance at court activities at a minimum. With Loras and Renly back in the capital, Arya had a rather busy schedule now and could pretend she needed some rest in advance or afterwards, because of all the exhausting riding and sailing and things her suitors invited her to.

The Knight of Flowers and the Lord of Storm’s End came up with all kind of ideas, how the three of them could enjoy themselves. Like, when they had taken her and Jeyne Poole to a small island in Blackwater Bay. They had picnicked together on top of a hill, overseeing the whole bay and then the two men had spent the afternoon on one beach and Arya and Jeyne on another. The two young women had been bathing and swimming, squealing and romping as if they were little again. Another time, Loras and Renly had taken her and Jeyne to a play. _It was hilarious._ Not the play, Arya couldn’t even say what it had been about. But her suitors had provided a ton of food as usual and soon the four of them had started a cherry-stone spitting contest, targeting the high-teased hair of the snobby ladies in the audience. And when they had no more cherries, they had just thrown whatever small object they could get hold of. But still, these numb nuts hadn’t been able to identify the four of them as the culprits. Even though, Renly had been roaring with laughter at every hit and even timid Jeyne had snorted with laughter and enjoyed chaperoning Arya with these splendid suitors.

Whereas Ned’s courtship was something entirely different, far less excessive and more authentic instead. Although, him and Arya mostly just went strolling or riding, she found it just as exciting as her time with Renly and Loras. She even liked it better. And since they were busy chatting all the time, they couldn’t have focussed on other things, anyway. Arya and Ned just got along perfectly and felt sympathetic to each other. So, only once a tiny cloud had hung over their heads, when he had lied to her about the crown prince’s chaperoning of Myrcella _… or whatever else that was!?_ At first, Arya had feared, Ned wouldn’t trust her anymore or would think her too childish and would get tired of her and their friendship. But thankfully, it had happened just this one time, just one lie. _So, obviously it didn’t concern her!_ Arya had eventually told herself. _Maybe the prince swore him to secrecy? Probably. Yeah, that must be it!_ And had tried not to think it over too much.

After all, Ned was the only one at court she could really talk to, about pretty much anything. _Well, almost anything._ He didn’t know about the dragon skull thing. And Arya couldn’t say why she never told him, _since it was no big deal._ But telling him about her first encounter with the crown prince felt somehow wrong … or about the forge. _That felt even more wrong to tell. Him or anyone!_ She could still feel the warmth creeping up her neck, just thinking about _him._ So, when Prince Gendry suddenly began to join them on their rides, she had at first feared, he would mention her visit at the forge somehow. But he never did, thankfully. And before long, Arya actually enjoyed having him there. Be it to race him, Ned and Harwin over the hills and meadows. Or listening to him and Ned bicker and tease one another, blurting out embarrassing stories about each other. Like from when they squired and pranked one another, and most of all poor Lancel Lannister. The Forever Squire, as they still called him – since the clumsy lad had squired until he turned twenty. Arya couldn’t help but burst into laughter at hearing that, she had met Ser Lancel by then herself and thus could literally visualize him sticking out between the younger and smaller squires.

So, she soon found herself even waiting for Prince Gendry to come forth between the trees or behind the next hilltop. Their rides were a lot more fun with him there, his and Ned’s stories reminded her so much of Robb and Jon and Theon. How they had pranked one another, and how she and Bran had mostly been involved somehow as well. Once even Sansa, so Theon couldn’t smell the rat. They had downsized his favourite breeches to make him think he got fat. _That definitively was one of their best pranks!_ Arya could still recall Theon’s dumb face and swearing when the seams over his bum had ripped. He surely never would have found out, if they hadn’t all five stood there, snorting with laughter. And so did Ned, Gendry, Myrcella and Trystane when she told them – imposing Theon, how he had tried to fit into his once beloved breeches. The princess laughed herself to tears at that and her brother teased her for it. So Myrcella threatened, he would seem eager to find out how poor Theon must have felt. But he only laughed and thanked her for the warning, claiming now he could get fat and blame it all on her.

“You seem happy, child.” her Lady Mother remarked after that ride, causing Arya’s mood to sour within a blink. _She knew exactly why she said that!_ Lady Catelyn was waiting for her to say certain things since a while now.  
So, she told her mother just the opposite, “I’m not in love with Ned, and I don’t want to marry him!” The truth.  
“Is that so?” Lady Catelyn still didn't believe her.  
And Sansa teased, “Come on, Arya! You’re literally beaming right now—”  
“Because I was riding, stupid!” Arya snapped annoyed, “And not what you call riding! The feeling-absolutely-exhausted-afterwards kind … so, of course my skin's flushed.”  
“Doesn’t explain why you were happily grinning like an idiot!” Sansa kept teasing.  
“Well, maybe I was imposing you with your silly I-love-my-stupid-prince-so-much face!?"

“Girls, enough!” their mother reprimanded and then turned to Arya, “You’re still so young, how could you possibly know what love is?” And just when she had hoped her mother would finally see reason, Lady Catelyn had to ruin it again, “Or what isn’t! I think you’re actually quite smitten with young Lord Dayne, you just don’t know it, yet. But the signs are all there, child.”  
_There’s way too much idiocy in this room!_ Arya covered her eyes with her palm, before she again attempted to make them see reason, “I don’t love Ned! The signs you see, are that I _like_ him, as my friend. As I like Mycah. Do you think I want to marry Mycah?” she asked and looked at both of them, who exchanged a worried look. _Damn fools!_ “Seven hells, no! I don’t want to marry Mycah! And with Ned it’s just the same. _It feels just the same!_ That’s not love, just friendship.” Arya retired straight to her chamber after that, fuming. _Bloody idiots._

Though, after this anew attempt to talk her into entrapping Ned Dayne into marriage, she arranged with him to skip their riding for two fortnights. _To prove her point to these two fools!_ Instead, she only went riding with Renly and Loras, who at some point always rested somewhere. While she and Harwin raced each other, exercising both her and her father’s steed. Yet afterwards, she each time returned deliberately grinning like a dreamily idiot – waiting for her Lady Mother and sister to take the bait. Which, of course they soon had, _foolish as they were!_ Before the moon’s turn was over, they keenly informed her, she indeed were in love with Ned Dayne. _Idiots._ But Arya only confidently announced, she hadn’t been riding with Ned anymore, “So, _evidently_ I just love riding very much!” and fully enjoyed their dumb faces upon hearing that.

However, what Arya hadn’t thought of was, what Myrcella must think of her. Two days after her mother and sister had walked into her trap, the princess had invited her to join her for some lemoncakes.  
“My lady, have I or Trystane or my brothers wronged you somehow?” Myrcella asked straight away.  
“What? No. Never!” Arya stammered puzzled, “What makes you think that, your grace?”  
And Myrcella then explained, how strange she had thought it, when she of a sudden refused to go riding with them. Causing Arya to blush with shame and instantly explain, her Lady Mother and sister were hoping for Ned to request her hand and thus she had to teach them both a lesson, to make them stop teasing her all the time. At that, the princess burst into laughter, claiming, switching their mothers would undoubtedly solve both their problems, since hers couldn’t stand the idea of her with Trystane – or any man. And they amusedly exchanged their experiences with their annoying dominant mothers.

“Well, since this obviously was just a misunderstanding,” the princess said when they both had calmed down somewhat, “I probably should give you _this_ now.” and subtly handed her a small scroll of parchment.  
Causing Arya to blink in surprise over the sudden secrecy, “What is it?”  
“Why don’t you see for yourself, dear Arya.” Myrcella chuckled, yet watched her closely when she unrolled it in her lap.  
_A note_ , Arya realised surprised. “Still interested in the passageway? Nightfall. You know where. Breeches mandatory.” she read and instantly felt blood rushing to her face, making her ears buzz. Blinking and furrowing her brow, she read it again. And again. _It made no sense._ Yet, when she finally looked up, facing the princess again, Myrcella smiled clearly pleased.  
“You know who this's from, your grace!?” Arya asked in disbelief.  
“Don’t you, my lady?” the princess’ smile turned into a confused frown, “I was told, you’d understand!”  
“Um, I do know. But I don’t understand! Well, I understand … the note. But _why,_ your grace?” Arya inquired perplexed.  
“Shouldn’t you been asking that someone else, my lady?” the princess smiled again and hinted at the scroll in her hands.

After that, Arya spent the rest of the day brooding over the message, turning his suggestion over in her mind. _This wasn’t proper. Myrcella handled it so secretive … and he hadn't phrased it so vaguely for no reason!_ For the same reason, she had handed the note back to the princess, who had looked rather disappointed then - even though she had assured Arya, it were fine to decline. She shouldn’t even consider it. _Just forget you ever saw it!_ she told herself. Yet, Arya found herself pacing back and forth in her chamber after supper. She shouldn’t go. _Her mother would skin her alive if she found out!_ But she wanted to. _And where was the difference in going with him or searching the passageway alone!? At least with him it were quicker. And he was a knight and from what she heard a good fighter, so it undoubtedly were safer to explore it with him._ And she really wanted to find this passageway. _But he’s a grown man and you’re a maiden, and nightfall's never a good idea for that constellation!_ her mind warned. _But why not!? She could protect herself and after all, he was the fucking crown prince! Sansa herself had said, she wasn’t to question his honour or to imply he’d have anything inappropriate in mind._ And this opportunity was just too good to resist …

So, when Arya shortly before nightfall entered the vault, he was already waiting and didn't look the least surprised, she actually came. He was leaning against the skull of the Black Dread and ruffled Balerion’s fur, who lay in his usual spot on his namesake’s jawbone.  
“Why so late?” she demanded forthright, unable to not sound somewhat annoyed.  
“Good day to you, too, my lady!” he chuckled and teased, “Should I’ve done this sooner?”  
“No.” she growled, but then a quiet “Maybe.” slipped from her lips before she could prevent it. “No, I meant, why nightfall!?” she corrected herself, feeling instantly tense again. _This was a bad idea. She shouldn’t have come._  
Yet, he clearly found it amusing and teased, “Maybe it’s more fun after nightfall?” But his mischievous grin quickly softened, “I’ve got something for you.” and he pulled a black cloak out from behind him.  
“I’m not cold!” she stated confused.  
“That’s good to know!” he chuckled again, “But it’s also meant to shield you from prying eyes and most of all to not get you all dirty again.”  
“And what about yourself?” she demanded, fearing he were just coddling her.  
“I’ve got one, too.” he stepped aside to show her there was another one.  
“You know, if your note had said ‘breeches AND cloak mandatory’ I’d brought one.” she growled only halfway appeased.  
“Well, I had a spare one …” he shrugged and then japed, “And I only mentioned breeches to make clear this won’t be any posh stroll!”  
“I’m not stupid!”  
“No, that you’re definitively not.” he chuckled once more, “But I feared you might come running straight from supper.”

“So, may I?” he asked eventually and stepped behind her to place the cloak around her shoulders. However, when she pulled her braid forth and his hand accidently brushed hers, her skin somehow tingled where they had touched. Causing Arya to look up at him in surprise. And he locked his gaze with hers for a moment, quietly stating, “Fits perfectly.”  
“Thanks to Myrcella, I suspect.” she retorted almost absently.  
Which made him chuckle again, “Damn, you caught me!” He pulled her hood up and put on his own cloak, before they both went to the door that led deeper down into the vaults. “Ready?” he asked and took the torch from the wall, “Some of the way can be quite slippery, so normally I’d suggest you take my hand, but I suspect you’d decline.”  
“Damn right!” she snorted amused.  
“Fine, but I get to say ‘told you so’ when I’m picking you off the ground!”  
“Only if I get to hit you when you do!”  
“Sounds like he have another deal.” he laughed and opened the door, leading her down into the vaults below until they came to an iron gate, barring the entrance to a damp narrow tunnel.

And soon they descended down some indeed slippery steps, which led them into an even damper maze of tunnels. They went left and right and left and left and down some spiral staircase and through several more tunnels.  
“Where are all of these leading to?” she asked.  
Causing him to chuckle again, “Aren’t you a nosy one?”  
“I’m not nosy!”  
“But a curious one.” he turned around and grinned at her.  
“So!?” she snapped.  
“Nothing, I like it.” he laughed, “Maybe, we should make nightly exploring something regular, huh?” and then explained, the tunnels originally were built to provide the people in the keep with supplies in case of a siege – or escape routes, if necessary. But in peace times the tunnels would have a different purpose, providing the castle with other kind of goods.

“You mean whores.” she snorted over his lousy try to avoid the term, “Is that why you know your ways around here?”  
“I thought you weren’t the nosy kind.” he teased laughing.  
“I’m not!” she snapped offended, “It just seemed the natural conclusion. You’re a man. Men like whores.”  
Though, that made him stop in his track and turn around to face her. Looking somewhat serious he calmly said, “I don’t.”  
“Why?” she blurted and regretted it immediately, “Um, I mean they’re nice women, aren’t they?” _Better to sound stupid than nosy again._  
“I’m sure they are!” he chuckled and claimed, “I just don’t require their services.”  
“Why that?” she heard herself asking before she knew, causing him to smirk at her mischievously. _Damnit!_ Feeling her cheeks and ears redden, she quickly snapped, “I’m not nosy!” before he could say otherwise again.  
“Just curious, I know.” he chuckled.  
“Exactly!” she stated stubbornly, “So, why not?” _Shut up!_ her brain seemed to yell at her.

And he bit his lip amused, “I recall my mother saying, not to discuss such matters with young maidens.”  
“And _I_ recall my mother saying, not to meet alone with a man, especially not after nightfall.” she countered somewhat angrily.  
“But here you are!” he teased grinningly.  
“Because it’s rubbish!” Arya huffed, “Unlike Sansa, I can actually protect myself—” making him burst into laughter. “ _I can!_ ” she snapped.  
“I believe you.” he tried to appease and nodded at her belt, “Your famous Needle, I assume.”  
“Exactly.” she snorted and suddenly found herself smiling at him again. _He remembered!_  
“Though, I hope we don’t need it tonight.” he appeased and led her further down the tunnel, “We’re almost there.”

Arya couldn’t tell how long exactly they had been in the tunnels, but it must have been about half an hour until they finally passed through another iron gate and stepped out of some narrow cave, into the fresh air. _Well, as fresh as air in a literal shithole can be._  
“It’s not as bad as it smells.” he claimed, seeing her wrinkle her nose, “Well, actually it is! But there are some nice people living here.”

Flea Bottom was a maze of twisty narrow alleys and over-leaning buildings. Arya could barely see the sky when she looked up and instantly found herself wondering, what it must feel like to live in this dirt and stench, where not even the sun could reach to the ground. She followed Gendry through the downtrodden area, mirroring him in gripping Needle’s hilt. Though, not because she was afraid.  
He had warned her, “Pickpockets in this part of the city steal anything they can get hold of!” which had made Arya wonder, _if he talked of experience?_   
And while some of the alleys were empty now, especially those with pigsties and tanner’s sheds, the ones with the whorehouses and winesinks were more than well-frequented at this late hour.

When they came to one of them, Gendry pulled her closer, “In these alleys we’ve to be most careful! Lots of folk from the keep here.” he whispered, making Arya pull her hood deeper into her face. _It was one thing to defy Catelyn Tully, but something else entirely, if someone saw Arya Stark alone with a man after nightfall – crown prince or not – she wasn’t suicidal!_ But apparently that wasn't enough, since Gendry now offered her his hand, “This time it’s not up for discussion, I won’t lose you in these crowds!” he insisted, "And it's safer for both of us if people see we're not alone.”  
So, she reluctantly placed her hand in his, feeling her heart skip a beat when he enclosed it.  
“See, you didn’t drop dead from that!” he teased, unaware of her body’s strange reaction.  
Arya would have laughed out loud at his remark, hadn’t his touch so completely stunned her. She felt the anew tingling now spread through her whole body, in alternating waves of warmth and cold. And while he obliviously manoeuvred her through the crowds, she tried to figure out, _what was happening to her?_ It felt odd. _Yet, somehow nice._ She couldn’t quite place it. And most of all the _why_ behind it. _This wasn’t the first hand she held_ , but something like that had never happened. Renly, Loras and Ned had even kissed her hand and nothing the like happened.

The touch of Gendry’s hand, though, had kept her distracted for quite a while, as they passed through some barely crowded alleys with stables and tanner’s sheds. Only, when they faced bigger crowds again – stinking of ale and sweat, vomit and piss and even worse – her instincts had taken over and sharpened her senses at once. Some of the drunkards obviously were out for a fight, deliberately bumping into the people passing by. But Gendry’s tall hooded figure seemed to clear their minds enough to discard the two of them as targets.  
“Admit it, now you’re glad it’s not your own cloak!” Gendry japed, when they passed another less crowded alley.  
“Now that you say it, I suddenly feel tempted to sweep along these nice pigsties walls.” she teased grinningly and moved towards them.  
But he pulled her back by her hand, “You wouldn’t dare!” he growled playfully.  
“Watch me!” she tried to reach the dirty walls anew, but he pulled her back once more. More forceful this time, causing her to bump into him.  
“Wanna try again!?” he challenged, laughing.  
“Sure, knocking you over was the plan all along!”  
He snorted with laughter at that, “If only you could, my lady, if only you could …” dragging her along behind him.

And soon they were going uphill, towards Rhaenys’s Hill.  
“I thought we’d stay in Flea Bottom?” Arya frowned.  
“We will.” he assured and some alleys later he suddenly stopped outside a tavern, “Here we are! Though, I admit, it’s the fancy part of Flea Bottom and I hope my lady doesn’t mind.”  
“We’re going to a tavern!?” she asked incredulously, having assumed he would just give her a quick tour and then they would return to the keep.  
“Only if you want, of course …” he suddenly looked somewhat insecure.  
“I’m in!” she grinned excited and pulled him towards the door, but then stopped abruptly, “That is, if you brought any coin!? Since I didn’t.” She felt embarrassed, she hadn't thought of that, “You should’ve mentioned I’d need some silver!”  
Which in return made him chuckle again, before he pulled a purse jangling with coin from his doublet. “Would that do the trick for my lady?” he teased and led her towards the entrance, “They serve great pies here. The best in the city, if you ask me. So, I hope, you’re hungry.”

And as soon as he opened the door, the muffled noises they had heard from outside, increased to a loud and obviously boozy babel of voices. Roaring laughter and yelling, giggling and chuckling, arguing and teasing, chatting and murmuring – accompanied by stamping and dancing, running and scuffing, clanking crockery and metal and the creaking of wood and fire. However, the taproom smelled surprisingly nice. Sure, there were slight scents of sweat and vomit lingering in the air – after all they were still in Flea Bottom – but the dominant scent in the room was that of fresh baked bread and pies, roasted meat and honey, ale and wine and herbs and spices. It made Arya’s mouth water instantly and her stomach growled in anticipation.  
“You like it?” Gendry smiled, seeing, she hadn’t expected to find this after all the shady places they had passed.

Yet, they barely reached the counter, when a slender man with matted blond curls approached them, “Well, I’ll be damned!” He seemed delighted to see Gendry and then yelled, “Hot Pie! Move your arse out here! Guess, who’s visiting tonight!”  
And a plump man with dark curls and flour all over him hurried from the kitchen and hugged Gendry overjoyed, “What’re you doing here at so late an hour!?” both of them ignoring, that Gendry’s clothes were spotted with flour now as well.  
“Lommy, Hot Pie, this is Arya. A friend of mine.” Gendry stepped aside, so they could see her. “That’s no friend, you damn fool!” Hot Pie objected, rolling his eyes. And for a moment, Arya thought he mistook her for a whore, but then he went on, “That’s a _girlfriend!_ ”  
And Lommy snorted, “And a real one this time, you’re improving, lad!”  
_“What!?”_

“Don’t listen to them!” Gendry chuckled, yet, looked somewhat embarrassed, “They just love to tease people.”  
“People!?” Lommy snorted, “You’re not ‘people’, my simple-minded friend!” giving Gendry a playful smack.  
“Alright. They love teasing _me!_ ”  
“But, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Arya!” the blond said.  
“Yeah, pleasure to meet you! Though, you have our sympathies with that one!” Hot Pie chuckled. “Can you imagine, this half-wit here and his pretty Dornish girlfriend were telling us for years they were some pickpocketing orphan ploughboys.” the plump man snorted with laughter, “Thinking us as soft in the head as themselves … that we wouldn’t know what a real posh prince would look like!”  
Arya didn’t get it.  
“They mean Ned and me.” Gendry laughed.  
“Yeah, that damn Dayne, prettier than most girls!” Lommy chuckled.  
“Present company excepted, of course!” Hot Pie winked.  
“When we were squires, Ned was barely eleven, I think … we stole away from the keep one day and stumbled upon these two fools.” Gendry explained, “And smart-alecky as we were then, we told them we were pickpockets, so we could hang out with them, thinking they wouldn’t know who I was.”

“You should’ve seen his dumb face, when he realised, we knew all the time. It was hilarious!” Lommy grinned, “I mean, come on, man, who'd buy such crap?”  
“She did!” Gendry pointed his thumb at Arya and burst into laughter.  
“ _Hey!_ That doesn’t count!” she shoved him, causing him to laugh even more.  
And Hot Pie teased, “Really!? Girl, you’re letting us down here, big time!”  
“How should I've known what your southerners’ princelings look like on my first day in town!?” she snapped indignantly.  
“Princeling!? Seriously?” Gendry cocked his eyebrow.  
“Yeah, princeling,” Lommy snorted amused, “she’s right! It doesn’t count, then.” and smacked him again.  
“So, what’re you doing here?” Hot Pie inquired, “Apart from showing off you finally found someone prettier than Ned.”  
“Careful, lads! She has a thing for young Lord Dayne.” Gendry teased.  
“No, I don’t!” Arya shoved him again.  
“So, you brought your girlfriend’s girlfriend!?” Lommy snorted, “Damn, you’re a real charmer!” and roared with laughter over his own jest, ignoring Arya’s protest.  
Well, until she kicked him in the shin, “I’m nobody’s girlfriend!”  
“Oh, sorry, Lom!” Gendry teased innocently, “Should I've mentioned she has a temper!?” and then turned to Hot Pie, “We’re here for pies and your superb company, of course!”

“Well, in that case, follow me!” Hot Pie waddled to a booth in a corner, where a man and a woman were entwined in more than a tight embrace, “Hey, you two! Get yourselves a room, and do it elsewhere! This’s a respectable establishment.” he shooed them away, so they could sit there.  
And over ale and an indeed delicious pie, Arya got to hear how Gendry, Ned and some other squires befriended a dyer’s apprentice and a baker’s boy from Flea Bottom. And how that eventually had resulted in Gendry and Ned lending them the money to buy this tavern, right below the Street of Flour. Which then thanks to Hot Pie’s obvious talents in the kitchen and Lommy’s entertaining big mouth soon became Flea Bottom’s secret gem.

It was absolutely hilarious with the two innkeeps. How they seemingly lacked any respect of the crown prince, making fun of him and calling him an idiot as if it were nothing. And how Gendry tried to convince her, in the beginning of their friendship Lommy and Hot Pie in fact would have had no idea who he was, and would now only call him all these names to cover that up. But Hot Pie insisted their story were the truth.  
“Okay, if that's the case, why don’t you tell her about that huge battle you once witnessed?” Gendry challenged and both him and Lommy burst into laughter. “You know, the one outside the alehouse, here in Flea Bottom!” Gendry went on.  
“Yeah, Arya, you really need to hear that, it’s hilarious!” Lommy claimed, “Or ask him what a knight is!” and again he and Gendry had snorted with laughter.  
“Oh, yeah!?” Hot Pie countered angrily, “And how about you tell her, you blind fool actually thought Ned was a girl!? Until the very day you saw him taking a piss!” resulting in him and Lommy bickering and ranting like an old married couple.  
And Gendry told her, his two lowborn friends would soon marry the feistiest twin sisters in the city, “Can you imagine the fighting then!?” and they both burst into laughter.

It was less than three hours till dawn, when they eventually decided to return to the Red Keep, with Gendry immediately offering her his hand again when they stepped outside the tavern. To prevent her from falling in her tipsy state, he had argued. Still, Arya took it and without hesitating this time. But of course, it hadn’t prevented her from stubbornly blaming the late hour and the scent of Flea Bottom as the cause for her slight dizziness. She even suggested another race, all the way from the tavern up through the tunnels and vaults back to the Tower of the Hand to prove Gendry wrong.  
“So, my lady wants me to run myself into the ground, just a fortnight before the tourney!?” he questioned, playing the outraged.  
“It’s a stupid tourney, anyway!” she snorted.  
“Why that?” he furrowed his brow and studied her surprised.  
“It’s a men only thing. So, it’s stupid! And boring.” she huffed, “Just like women only things. Nothing I need to attend!”

“And there I thought, you were eager to beat the likes of Littlefinger.” Gendry teased.  
Making her look up at him, “What do you mean?”  
“Well, women aren’t exactly excluded from the bets, my lady.” he explained, “Most ladies just don’t do it, because they think it’s unladylike … unless they bet on the knights they fancy.”  
“I’m not ‘most ladies’!” she snapped.  
“Exactly! These pretty fools all wonder why they keep losing, they don’t understand what they’re betting on. But you do, Arya!” he went on, encouraging her, “With your quick wit and expertise in swordsmanship and riding, you could make quite some coin in this tourney.”  
“I’m good at archery, too! Theon taught me. He’s one of the best bowmen in the North.” she declared proudly.  
“See! You’ve all the skills you need to empty everyone else’s pockets.” he softly nudged her shoulder.  
“But if I beat you, we’re doing this race here, understood! All the way from the tavern to the Tower of the Hand, right after the tourney—” she announced grinning.  
“Wouldn’t that be a little unfair?” he protested, “Think of all the bruises I’ll have then!”  
“Do you ever run out of excuses!?” she rolled her eyes.  
“No, do you?” he smirked mischievously.  
“Never!”she chuckled.

They had walked the rest of the way in silence. But not the awkward kind, _a nice kind of silence._ She liked it. Just as holding his hand. _She liked that, too._ Arya had thought of pulling her hand away when they had entered the cave, but she hadn’t. Thinking, _he could let go just as well!_ But he hadn’t either. Not when he had closed the iron gate. Not in the tunnels. Not on the spiral staircase, though, that had been a bit tricky. And not afterwards, when they came to the vaults.  
However, when they didn’t return to the dragon skulls, Arya’s instincts raised alarm, “Where are we going!?”  
“You to your bed, my lady, and me to mine, don’t worry!” he appeased, “But I can hardly let you return through the front door at this late hour, can I?” _Seven hells!_  
She hadn’t thought of that went she had left. Back then, she had believed, he would only show her the passageway and she would be back in no time. _Stupid! Hopefully had nobody noticed her absence …_

So, Gendry now led her to a wooden door, the entrance to a narrow hallway. And there they left their dirty cloaks behind.  
“I’ll take care of them afterwards.” he assured, and Arya followed him through the narrow hallways that eventually led them to a simple wooden ladder.  
“We’ve to be quiet now! We’re right under the Hand’s Tower.” Gendry whispered, “I assume, your chamber’s in the second storey from the top?”  
“Is there a passageway to my room as well?” Arya blurted excited.  
Causing him to chuckle, “I see, you’d like that!?” but he crushed her hopes, “Sorry, my lady, there is no such thing! The closest I can get you to your chamber is two storey’s below or the top, but I guess that’s no option with your father residing there, huh?”

Hence they climbed five ladders up, until they stood on a small platform next to a narrow wooden door.  
“We’re behind the wall-hanging outside your father’s solar.” Gendry whispered.  
“How do you know all this!?” Arya inquired amazed.  
“I was born here, remember!” he chuckled quietly, “More than enough time to discover the Red Keep’s secrets.” before he stepped closer to the door.  
“Gendry?”  
“Mm?” his ear was already at the door boards.  
So Arya stepped right in front of him, "This was fun.”  
“It was, Arya.” he smiled down at her and locked his gaze with hers, while they both listened at the door – waiting for the guards on the other side to descend to the lower storeys, so they could finally open the door.  
And only when they both were certain, there was no household guard nearby, Arya lifted the wall-hanging somewhat and slipped through, swiftly sneaking up to her chamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you see Arya finally starts liking some things, or rather some people in King’s Landing. But if you read closely, her happy times are all outside the Red Keep, or rather away from court life. So, please don’t mistake this for her actually settling in. And also, this is just the calm before the storm, that is awaiting her soon, that is why I wrote her some happy moments, to show she has no idea what’s coming for her and thinks the worst lies behind her now. But court and those vipers and vultures haven’t even get started with her.
> 
> And please, don't think Gendry intended to get her drunk to try something. first, drinking alcohol is something normal in this universe, in which Arya at 16 is a grown woman, so this i not exactly underage-drinking and in fact, Gendry made sure, she wasn't getting too drunk.  
> He just was desperate, when Arya suddenly refused to go riding with Ned and Myrcella and Trystane, since he didn't know why and that this was only temporarily. And he doesn't dare to show up when she is with Renly and Loras, since who knows who Loras will side with, when he sees his sister's big dream of becoming queen is in danger. So Gendry just missed Arya and he is getting more and more jealous of Ned, who can spend time with her in public. So, he had to come up with something special, something Arya wouldn't say no to and something she would like, which he hopes makes her like him more. But he is aware, he's endangering Arya's reputation and that they can't sneak out through the tunnels and secretly meet in Flea Bottom forever.


	7. The Wolf in the Gilded Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Arya's dismay, life at court gets crazier and she finds herself stuck in the Red Keep and feels like a bird in the gilded cage. So, of course it doesn't take long until the she lashes out, since she is no pretty little bird giving in to such a fate, but a wild northern she-wolf. Ned Dayne tries his best to help, but hasn't exactly much time to calm her temper, partly thanks to Gendry. Who unlike him knows, strictly playing by the rules isn't always the best way. And thus he still keeps finding opportunities to see Arya. Yet, in doing so, he unwillingly causes only more trouble for her.

A fortnight before the tourney in celebration of King Robert's nameday, Ned and Loras were busy training and preparing, and no longer had time to invite Arya to any activities outside the keep. In fact, she could count herself lucky, if they found a spare moment for a short stroll in the gardens every once while. And although Renly no longer participated in tourneys – apparently sick of being compared with his lookalike nephew and the Knight of Flowers – he now had absolutely nothing to gain from spending time with Arya outside the keep. So, her only hope to keep her sanity was Myrcella. Yet, with Trystane, Gendry and even Tommen competing in the tourney, the princess was just as stuck in the palace as Arya herself. Only unlike her, Myrcella didn’t feel like a caged animal there. _Stuck with female only activities. All day long, for two damn sennights!_

Though unfortunately, spending time with the other ladies in waiting was now even worse than usual. They prepared just as eagerly as the men for the tourney, in their very own way. Like the men they tried to get themselves into shape, which in their case meant to lose or gain weight to present themselves as pretty as possible in the arena and at the feasts afterwards. And some ladies, like Margaery, Sansa and Myrcella had even planned well in advance – intent to amaze each tourney day in a more exquisite gown. _They had all gone mad. Madder than mad._ Arya had never seen so many women attending the embroidery sessions before. It seemed, as if every lady in waiting in the Seven Kingdoms now spent half her day stitching and sewing fancy new dresses. Apart from Arya, of course. She only did some crooked stitches on some satin cloth, for appearance’s sake when Lady Catelyn was present. _Damn, hawk of a mother._ But mostly she just sat there and listened sullenly to the other ladies chatting excitedly about the tourney.

Like, which knight or lordling they fancied. How handsome and valiant they thought him. How badly they hoped their feelings were reciprocated. And of course, how they dreamt he would crown them Queen of Love and Beauty. Arya could barely refrain from constantly rolling her eyes and snarling at everyone. Especially when they asked, which betrothals she believed this tourney would spark. _As if she cared!_ Which inevitably led to stupid comments about her and Ned. And within less than half an hour, everyone in the room claimed to know, Ned would ask for her hand after the tourney. _Seriously!?_ So, when Arya called that nonsense, explaining they were just friends, they all laughed at her and proclaimed, if Ned were to win the tourney, he wouldn’t crown anyone else but her his Queen of Love and Beauty – and that were as good as proposing. _Bloody idiots!_ Arya was about to storm from the room at that, but her mother’s silent glare nailed her to her chair.  
“Don’t listen to them, Arya, they’re just over-excited!” Myrcella tried to appease, “Before tourneys they all get their hopes up, only to find them crushed afterwards.”

And Arya just couldn’t escape these silly geese anymore. Usually, the men practiced without an audience. The ones that were actually any good did so early in the morning, while the women still made themselves presentable for the day. And the rest chose to spar later in the day with the squires, when the women commonly were occupied with embroidery and reading. So, normally the ladies at court didn’t get to see any sparring, it wasn’t appropriate. _Usually._ Since now so close before the tourney it suddenly wasn’t improper at all. Arya understood, it helped the men to get used to having an audience, but she absolutely didn’t get what was in it for the women. _Why did they all make such a fuss about it?_

At first, Arya had been somewhat excited to finally get to see some sparring and practicing in the Red Keep. And had thought it a good opportunity to prepare herself for the betting, to assess at least the contestants from court before the tourney started. But she had to realise quickly, focussing on the men exercising wasn’t exactly easy, when one was surrounded by shallow-brained idiots – who constantly tried to engage her into conversation. And to make things even worse, she had to face these numb nuts alone. Since, the queen forbid Myrcella to join the other ladies on the terrace above the training yard. Beguiling sweaty, grunting men were beneath a princess, her friend had unhappily explained after embroidery. _Damn, they really should switch their mothers!_

So, Arya soon found herself sitting sullenly on the balustrade, absolutely annoyed by the ignorance of the other women around her. They were downright unable to see what she saw in the training yard. Who was skilled. Who had talent. And who potential. Who fought smart and with strategy. Who moved smooth. Who was quickest. And who strongest. Who fought only with brute force. And who lured his opponent into making mistakes. Or who held probably still back. But what frustrated her the most, was, that she couldn’t be down there herself. _She longed to practice with the men, to finally compete with a real opponent again._ Yet, instead she was stuck with the women on the terrace and felt utterly miserable there.

They only saw handsome faces they wanted to kiss, strong arms they wanted to feel around them and a brave protector, who would slay a giant for them if necessary. _She needed no protector! And if a giant should stupidly dare to steal her, she would just slay him herself,_ Arya thought huffing. But the other women had already found a new topic they could chat nonsense about. Armour, out of all. _Great._ And of course, for them it was all about the fanciness and shininess – the fancier and shinier, the better they thought it were. _Fancy ornamented mirrors,_ Gendry’s voice mocked in her mind, conjuring at least a small smile on her face for a while. His practice armour was indeed one of the plainest, and of course the numb nuts called it a great pity that he wouldn't wear armour according his status. _Blind fools. He did!_ His was the finest in the training yard, the blows landing on him had almost no impact and it fit so perfect, it was as if it were part of his body. Arya had never seen anything the like and his armour almost distracted her from focussing on his and Ned’s fighting skills when they sparred with each other.

Yet, her smile and concentration hadn’t lasted long, thanks to the idiocy surrounding her. _How was she supposed to decipher the strategies and predict the outcomes of the duels like this!?_ The silly geese behind her kept annoying her with stupid remarks and questions, until she finally had enough.  
“Shut up! Or go for a stroll … I’m trying to learn something here!” she snapped at them.  
“Arya!” Sansa reprimanded outraged.  
“ _What!?_ You all stand here blaring stupid things and don’t understand the first thing about fighting!” Arya snarled for everyone else on the terrace to hear.  
“But the She-wolf of course does?!” one of the silly geese mocked dismissively.  
“Indeed.” Arya hopped off the balustrade and charged at the woman, who was a full head taller than her, “Wanna find out!?” she challenged, “Fight me yourself or choose a champion down there! Go on!”  
“Stop this! You’re embarrassing us—” Sansa pulled her away.  
“You mean, I’m embarrassing _you!_ ” Arya yelled, “Since I’m not embarrassed by the fact that I’m better than at least half the men down there!” and stormed off. However on the staircase that also led down to the training yard, she at one stroke realised, the men had heard her yelling as well. _Great. Back at the centre of attention!_ So, she slumped down where she stood and pulled her knees to the chest, feeling all eyes on her. And Gendry and Ned exchanged a glance and a few words, before the prince called for the sparring to continue whereas Ned walked up to her.

“Wanna tell me what that was about?” Ned asked, slumping clankingly down next to her.  
“I couldn’t concentrate on the sparring with these numb nuts constantly blathering absolute rubbish things, right next to me!” Arya huffed, “Like that you’d stand no chance against Gendry, just because he’s bigger.”  
“So, you felt need to defend my honour!?” Ned chuckled.  
“No. I know you can beat him, you’re quicker.” she countered, feeling herself calm down somewhat.  
“Are you saying, you’re keeping your finger’s crossed for me in the tourney?” he cocked his head, studying her.  
“Ned, don’t be silly!” she chuckled, “You know, I’m not superstitious. But keep on beating him and I’m betting on you, that’s all I’m saying.”  
“Maybe even as tourney champion?” he looked at her curiously.  
“Why not?” Arya shrugged, “Even father says you could be the next ‘Sword of the Morning’ and you’re a decent rider—”  
“Decent!? I’d say I’m more than decent!” he objected grinningly.  
“Hello!? Compared to me!” she snorted with laughter.  
And he carefully nudged her shoulder with his iron-clad one, parroting her, “Hello!? We’re talking normal people here! No northern she-wolf-half-horse woman.” making her laugh even more.

“Dayne, we can see she’s laughing, job’s done! So, get your pretty face down here again!” Gendry suddenly taunted from the training yard.  
Causing Ned to roll his eyes somewhat annoyed. “You’ll be alright, my lady?” he asked concerned.  
“Yeah, mother’s tirade can’t be worse than the last one.” she snorted.  
“We could go for a stroll, if you like!” Ned offered.  
“Now!?” Arya asked surprised and he nodded smiling, “I just need to get rid of all this noisy metal and we’re off here.”  
“Ned, sometime before nightfall would be nice!” Gendry called again and for a brief moment he locked eyes with her.  
“Um, thank you, Ned! But I think I’m fine now.” Arya blurted at that and quickly added, “And you certainly need some more practice, if you want me betting on you!”  
“Well, in that case, I’ll do my very best to knock that idiot out now, my lady.” Ned nodded towards Gendry and got up and bowed to her.

Though, afterwards at supper, Arya found herself indeed chided once more. Apparently had her disrespectful behaviour reached her mother’s ear even before she and Sansa had returned to the Tower of the Hand. And the reprimanding would have undoubtedly continued for at least another half hour, hadn’t Jory suddenly interrupted them.  
“Forgive me, my lord and my ladies, a message from the prince!” The commander of their household guard said, handing a scroll of parchment to Lord Stark, who looked surprised at the seal and at his wife, before he read it, knitting his brows.  
“What is it?” Lady Catelyn asked curiously, but her husband handed her the message instead.

“Oh, Arya!” her Lady Mother chirped suddenly.  
_“What!?”_ Arya frowned confused.  
“I believe you have another suitor!” Catelyn Tully announced delighted, her chest swelling with pride.  
_No! Please, no!_ Arya felt all colour draining from her face and saw her own shock mirrored on Sansa’s face.  
“That can’t be!?” her sister whispered wide-eyed. _Indeed, that can’t be!_  
“Oh, don’t be silly, Sansa! It’s from Tommen. He’s inviting your sister to a short ride in the morning. Apparently had Arya advised him in commissioning his new armour, and now he wants her to be the first one to see it.” Lady Catelyn explained.  
_Wait… what!? Oh, thank the gods!_ and again Arya saw her own feelings displayed on her sister’s face.  
“Ned, isn’t this wonderful!? Both our girls caught the eye of a prince!” _Thankfully not._  
“Tommen’s fourteen! This means nothing, Cat. Just think of all the girls Robb fancied at that age!” _Or the idiots Sansa fancied at that age._  
Once again Arya was grateful, their father opposed their lady mother’s annoying enthusiasm when it came to highborn men in Arya’s life. However, she couldn’t help but smile and slightly blush at the prospect of seeing _him_ at the forge again.

So, the next morning Arya found herself in Tobho Mott’s shop again, officially just for the last fitting of Tommen’s armour, but of course she followed the servant girl instantly into the stone barn. Only this time, it wasn’t just the familiarity of the place that drew her in, but evidently _him_ as well. She felt her heart beat quicken with every step she took and as soon as her eyes landed on him, her heart skipped a beat again. _Seems to become a habit of that stupid thing inside her chest._ Hence, Arya felt quite relieved to see a shirt under his apron this time. _Which hopefully kept her stupid eyes from wandering all over him again._ And when Elinor called him, he turned immediately and smiled. _He really had a nice smile._

“My lady,” he bowed to Arya, “I’m glad you could make it.”  
“Didn’t have much of a choice! Or do you think my mother would allow me to refuse a prince’s invitation?” she snorted.  
“I was counting on that!” he chuckled and nodded at the stool, which was covered with a clean cloth already.  
“Was that here all the time?” she laughed.  
“Of course, waiting longingly for you to return! But you never did, so Cloth, Stool and I came up with this plan to lure you back in.” he grinned.  
“So, why am I here!? To keep these two warm, since it’s so cold in here?” she nodded to the stool and cloth, “Or to chew your ears off while you work once more?”  
“Well, who better to chew them off than a wolf?” he laughed.  
“Um, I think we both know some silly geese, vultures and a certain snake who would do the job much quicker and better than I ever could.” Arya teased.  
“Only if I wanted to get my ears picked off or being swallowed whole!” he laughed, “No, no, my lady, only a wolf can do this chewing job properly!”  
“And about what would you like your ears being chewed off?” she snorted with laughter.

“Mm, first of all, I’d like to know to which half my lady’s counting me?” he challenged mischievously.  
“What do you mean?” she frowned confused.  
“Well, you said, or rather yelled something about being better than half the men in the training yard yesterday.” he winked at her.  
“Oh, um that…” she murmured embarrassed.  
“So, to which half should I count myself?” he smirked amused.  
“Um, to both, I think.”  
“I don’t think that's how the thing with the numbers works.” he laughed.  
“Yes, it does!” she huffed almost offended, “I could beat you, maybe not all the time, but I could.” causing him to laugh even more. “Hey, it’s true! I could!” she snapped, “Probably even the first time. Since I know exactly how you fight now, so the element of surprise is with me!” but he only laughed out louder, enraging her and before he knew, he had an iron bar at his throat, “I’m small, but I’m quick and far quicker than you, you stupid bull-headed prince!” she snapped. But again he snorted with laughter, unnerving her, “Why are you laughing at me!? You’re dead! And you didn’t even see it coming!”

“My lady, rest assured, I’m neither laughing at you, nor am I doubting your fighting skills. Especially not now, since I’m dead.” he chuckled.  
“Then why are you laughing!?” she demanded.  
“Because your undeniable logic constantly keeps astonishing me!”  
“You’re lying?” she watched him closely, unsure if he meant it.  
“No, I’d never laugh at you, Arya. Never!” he suddenly sounded serious and they both studied one another in silence, until he took the iron bar from her hand, brushing her hand with his once more.  
“So, you just wanted to ask if I could beat you? That’s why I’m here?” she murmured, trying to get her fluttering lashes under control.  
“No, actually I’ve a bone to pick with my lady!” he growled, trying to sound serious, but failed.  
“About what!?” Arya cocked her brow amused.  
“About that bee you put in Ned’s bonnet!”  
“What bee!?” she asked puzzled.

“The one that makes him think he could beat me!” now he cocked his brow.  
“He could!” Arya objected fiercely.  
“Only if I let him, my lady.” Gendry countered.  
“Rubbish! He’s quicker than you. Not as quick as me, but quick enough to beat you!” she scoffed stubbornly.  
“So, you want Ned Dayne to beat me in the tourney?” he studied her closely, “Even win the whole thing?”  
“Um…” she suddenly felt somehow backed into a corner, “I never said that! I just told him, he could beat you and the others, _if_ he wanted to. But I never said he would. Just that, if he keeps beating you, I’d bet on him, that’s all.”  
“So, you’re not rooting for him in the tourney?” Gendry asked, eyeing her curiously.  
“I’m not rooting for anyone!” she frowned and then realised that may have sounded rude and added, “Um, I mean I’d be happy for Ned if he wins, since we’re friends and all that. But I don’t mind if someone else wins. You or Loras or maybe Ser Barristan. Selmy actually would be amazing—”  
Causing him to snort with laughter again, “So, my lady fancies the oldest guy in the tourney?”  
“That man’s a legend! And unlike you little whippersnappers, _that_ man’s actually seen battle.” she huffed.  
“True. And somehow we envy him for that, but I can hardly start a war to change that, can I?” he chuckled.  
“Don’t worry, the next Greyjoy Rebellion's coming!” she snorted.  
“Probably sooner than we like.” he agreed.  
“You bet!” she grinned.

“Bet on what!?” Tommen suddenly stood behind them in his shining new armour of mainly black tinted steel with some golden stag ornaments.  
“I thought we agreed on the no fancy armour thing!?” Gendry ruffled his little brother’s hair amused.  
“You think it’s too much?” Tommen questioned insecure.  
“No! I was just teasing. You look great!”  
“Like a king?” the young prince turned to Arya.  
“Absolutely, your grace!” she assured.  
“I see, my lady didn’t just put a bee in Ned’s bonnet!?” Gendry cocked his brow.  
“Well, you need an heir, brother!” Tommen snorted tongue-in-cheek.  
“How about you take my lady back to the keep now and we discuss this heir thing on the sparring ground!?” Gendry challenged.  
“I accept!” Tommen grinned, “My lady, just give me a moment to get out of this. I’ll be right back.”

“So, you see a king in my baby brother now?” Gendry teased.  
“Of course, look at him! If that’s not a king then I don’t know what is.” Arya grinned.  
“And what do you see in me?” he asked, suddenly somewhat more serious.  
“Um, isn’t that obvious?” she nodded at his attire, “Looks like a blacksmith to me!”  
“Just wait until the tourney, my lady, you’ll be gaping in awe!” he challenged mischievously.  
“And swooning all over you, I presume?” Arya snorted with laughter.  
“Oh, yeah, definitively that!” he laughed as well.  
“Keep on dreaming, blacksmith!” she teased, seeing Tommen return to the stone barn.  
“I will, Arya!” he grinned.  
“My lady, are you ready to return to the palace?” his younger brother called. _No. Never._ Arya thought sullenly and yet, got up to meet the young prince halfway. But Gendry caught her wrist and stopped her, whispering, “You might wanna take a look behind a certain wall-hanging at times. Preferably after nightfall.”  
“What do you mean!?” she looked up at him, stunned.  
“There’s a message waiting for you since last night.” his hand slid down to hers and he locked eyes with her, causing her heart to flip, _his face was so close._ And for a moment, she thought he wanted to say something else. But he only swallowed and squeezed her hand before he let go off her, whispering, “Goodbye, Arya.”

And for the rest of the day, Arya had felt somewhat distracted. During embroidery she naturally had been glad, she for once could block the silly geese out. Hadn’t minded to think of _him, and his astonishing blue eyes_ then, instead of listening to their nonsense. But when she had watched the men exercise – again from the stairs away from the other ladies – she had soon gotten annoyed by herself. Or rather by him, for constantly seeing _his stormy blue eyes_ in front of her mind’s eye, when she was supposed to focus on the sparring. And when she hadn’t been thinking of his eyes, it had been _his smile._ Or _his touch_ making her skin tingle. And if not that, she had been wondering, what message she would find behind the wall-hanging. It had been so unnerving, she had found herself glaring at him after a while, but it hadn’t helped. His eyes, his smile and his touch had kept haunting her.

Then suddenly Arya had known what to do, if _that stupid prince_ kept tormenting her mind, she obviously had to kill him, there inside mind. She had snuck away as soon as she had seen a chance – which interestingly he had provided when he briefly had addressed the ladies on the terrace. Arya had quickly returned to her chamber and had then snuck to her hideout, the vault with the old Targaryen-furniture. Where she had spent the rest of the afternoon practicing – killing him with Needle. It had been surprisingly easy to imagine him as her heavy armed and well-armoured opponent, then. And she hadn’t stopped until he had been dead at least half a hundred times and she completely exhausted had fallen asleep on the dirty floor.

Only to awake to him shaking her, “Arya! You’re shivering.”  
“No, I’m not!” she snapped angrily.  
“And what’s that!?” he caught her arm, showing her her own goose bumps. “Even Balerion seems to agree!”  
And only then she noticed the purring tomcat in her other arm, “Maybe, he just likes me better than you!” she hissed.  
“I’m sure he does.” he chuckled.  
“What’re you doing here, anyway?” she asked drowsily.  
“Tracking down a wild northern lady gone missing again, it seems.”  
“I didn’t go missing.” she huffed, “Neither then, nor now.”  
“I know. But it’s late and again your parents are worried. So, come on, let’s get you to bed!” he smiled and pulled her to her feet.

“Wait, Needle!” Arya wrenched her hand free and put her sword in its stash, before she followed him out of the vaults. _To face another chiding. And all because of him. Unbelievable._ “I suppose, today I can’t expect any messages from your siblings to spare me my mother’s tirade?” she growled.  
“Um, none that I know of,” he looked apologetic, “but I’ve _this_ for you!” he handed her a small scroll of parchment.  
“What is it!?”  
“Well, um, I heard of your anew disappearing while I went to deliver _this._ ” he handed her a second one, “I didn’t want to leave them there, with everyone looking for you.”  
“So, you decided to rather help with the search, before anyone goes looking behind wall-hangings?” she chuckled.  
“Exactly!” he grinned and bid her goodnight, when they came to the yard in front of the Tower of the Hand.

Where Arya as predicted had been welcomed by another round of chiding.  
“We can hardly expect any further invitations from Prince Tommen after that, can we!? And you better pray, Lord Dayne’s too smitten with you to care by now, young lady!” her Lady Mother had scolded, “Or how much longer do you think the people at court will excuse your behaviour as childish rebellion, before they go o to spreading rumours of a far worse nature!?”  
And even her father had agreed and pleaded, “You’ve to be more careful, child! This isn’t Winterfell.” _And that’s exactly the problem!_  
But Arya’s protests hadn’t mattered. Catelyn Tully had announced, after the tourney she would personally chaperone Arya with her suitors – should there still be any left, then. _Seven hells, no! Now she really was a wolf in a gilded cage, and all thanks to that stupid pretty princeling!_

Arya had fumed when she finally had been allowed to retire to her chamber to bath, and had thrown her boots against the wall, imagining a certain royal face as her target, _stupid bull-headed prince!_ Though, when she had been about to throw them once more, the two scrolls at her feet had caught her eye – she had hid them in her boots and had completely forgotten about them. _Bloody princeling!_ Yet, hearing the maids approach, had left her no other option but to swiftly snatch the scrolls and hide them in her fists, before her chamber door had swung open and two girls had entered to fill her bathtub. Whereas Arya instinctively had turned towards the hearth, _she should just throw them into the fire!_ But something had kept her from doing so, begging her to at least read the messages first. _Stupid, stupid prince!_ Though, even when she had dismissed the maids, Arya hadn’t dared to unroll the scrolls yet and had hid them under her pillow. Only to spend her whole time in the bathtub staring at it – one moment angry at _him_ and then again curiously biting her lip, wondering what he might have written. 

And only when she had been certain, apart from the guards everyone else were abed, she finally had found the courage to unroll the first parchment. Or rather curiosity had finally won the upper hand, making her read the first scroll. “Where did you steal away to? I was trying to prove I can be quick as well.” it had said and Arya had to put her palm over her mouth to not get the giggles. And it had taken her quite a while to calm down and stop quietly chuckling to herself, before she had unrolled the second one. Which then had left her entirely speechless, “Do not ever let them change you! You are special. They are not.” Absolutely stunned by that, Arya had felt herself blushing and smiling, unable to stop for at least an hour. _What was happening to her!? It was just stupid words!_ Clearly just meant to comfort her, after what had happened the day before. Yet, she couldn’t stop reading them over and over again, smilingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT THIS CHAPTER WAS ABOUT
> 
> It was mostly about showing how unhappy Arya is when she's (encaged) at court. And being so entrapped now at the Red Keep means she has time to think and brood. And that is actually the last thing she needs now. She is still in the stage of denial. So, having time to brood means Gendry who slowly sneaks his way into her heart and head gets even more screen time in front of her mind's eye. And she just doesn't want that. She doesn't want to think about him. But being now entrapped in the palace means, she can't escape those thoughts and that only adds to Arya's frustration over court life. That's why she's desperately trying to tell herself, she wouldn't like Gendry. Because if she doesn't, that only leaves one option: That she actually likes him more than she should like a friend! And that is something, Arya is still unwilling to admit. Not even to herself, when alone in bed at night.
> 
> THE SECRET MESSAGES
> 
> I know it's totally corny! But hell, I like it and it's not like he's sending her actual kitschy love letters. He just wants a way to communicate with her directly and private (without his baby siblings being around/involved). And he can talk to her now regularly and doesn't have to wait days and weeks to let her know what he thinks of certain things that concern her or him. So, he leaves his messages at nightfall and she can pick them up and maybe even respond before the evening the following night.


	8. The Secret Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya slowly gets an idea what's happening to her and it scares her. A lot. Arya hates to be afraid of something, so she turns her fears into something she can deal better with, anger and stubborn sulking. But then Renly provides her with just the right distraction from that stupid bull-headed prince who is messing with her head. Which sparks an idea - it's time to show these southern idiots what a true northern she-wolf is.

After reading his messages, it had been impossible for Arya to fall asleep. Though, her bones and muscles had craved a good night’s sleep, her mind had been wide awake, revolving around _him_ for hours. Hence her smile had slowly turned into a frown, the longer she had lain awake, trying to figure out what was happening with her. _What was he doing to her?_ Until of a sudden her sister’s words had come to her mind, _you were happily grinning like an idiot!_ At that, she had gulped in shock and her head had started spinning. _NO!_ With lightning speed, Arya had been out of bed and had thrown both scrolls into the dying embers in the hearth. _Do not ever let them change you. You are special. They are not_ , his voice had whispered in her mind. And she had felt a sting in her chest when the scrolls almost simultaneously had caught fire, burning bright as day for an instant, only to turn into scrunched ashes a moment later. She had shivered upon the sight, although, it hadn’t been cold in her chamber. Nonetheless, she had put another log onto the embers and had quickly slipped under her covers again. _Why?_ his voice had asked in her mind.  
And she had squinted her eyes shut, snapping, “Leave me alone!”

Still, it had taken at least another hour until she finally had fallen asleep, and it hadn’t lasted long. Before dawn she had woken from a dream. Of _him_ waking her, whispering her name and gazing down at her, as he had done at the forge. After that, Arya had sat panting in her bed, trying to calm her heartbeat. In vain. So, she had done what had helped the day before, she had put on her breeches and boots again, but also had taken her hourglass this time. _No need to make her mother share a bed with her._ And had snuck to the secret door and from there to the vaults. To kill him as many times as possible, before the sand had run through the hourglass. She had felt better afterwards, but hadn’t completely dispelled him from her mind, yet.

Though, in the end it had all been for nothing. When she had returned to the secret door, another scroll had already been waiting for her. _Seriously!?_ But most of all, _had it been there before? Had she just missed it?_ Arya had stared at it, unable to decide what to do. _Maybe she should just leave it? Yes, probably. If she just didn’t touch it, didn’t collect it, he’d surely stop sending new ones, wouldn’t he!? He had to! Eventually._ However, at change of guards the scroll had _subconsciously_ disappeared into her boot. Or at least that was what she had told herself, when she had paced forth and back in her chamber afterwards. _Damnit!_ She had furiously unrolled it, reading, “Are you in trouble? If so, I would like to help. I know you do not need it. Still, the offer stands.”

 _Bloody prince!_ she had cursed and had spent the rest of the day sulking, hating _him_ and her mother, and even being slightly mad at her father – for expecting her to have a reputation as clean and pure as a flake of fresh snow, while turning two blind eyes to Robb’s little flings. Even Jon had once been caught kissing a girl and nobody had cared. Not even about Theon’s obsession with Ros. But she and Sansa couldn’t be alone in a room with a boy or a man – not even for an instant – without risking to be ruined. _It wasn’t fair and it made no sense!_ And nonsense like that had led to her wishing, she would have been born a boy. _She hated being a girl. Being a girl had caused the whole mess she was in now …_

And the following night hadn’t brought much relief and rest either, again she had been tossing and turning for hours before she had finally fallen asleep. Though, once more she had gotten up before dawn, sneaking to the secret passageway – keen to spend the next hour killing him. Yet, again she had found a scroll behind the door. _He’s got to be jesting!?_ But this time she had taken it right away, hurrying to the vaults, where she had unrolled it, “In case you have not noticed: I bested him today. Are you betting on me now?” _Stupid bull-headed prince!_ She had furiously scrunched it up and lit it at the torch on the wall, before she had started a new round of lashing and cutting at him in every which way she could come up with. To the apparent great amusement of Balerion who had watched her while she had whirled around in the vault – trying to banish _him_ from her thoughts. In vain.

Undoubtedly, Arya would have spent another day sulking amongst the other ladies in waiting, hadn’t surprisingly an invitation of Renly awaited her at breakfast. And to her even greater surprise, Lady Catelyn hadn’t minded to let Jeyne do the chaperoning again – surely because Sansa’s dresses needed to be finished in time before the tourney. So, the prospect of skipping embroidery had lifted Arya’s spirit instantly.

And mere hours later, she had found herself on horseback, arriving in a small lair of tents about two leagues south of King’s Landing.  
“We’re here, my lady.” Renly announced mischievously.  
Yet, seeing a tall dark-haired man emerge from one of the tents, caused her heart to skip a beat over the astonishing resemblance. He seemed younger and his ears were bigger, but apart from that he was the spitting image of the crown prince. _Great. Surrounded by two lookalikes!_ of the one man she had hoped to banish from her mind, at least for a few hours.  
“Uncle!” the young man greeted Renly, hugging him cheerfully.  
Right when an even taller man… _no, a woman_ emerged from another tent, bowing to the Lord of Storm’s End, who greeted her with a hug as well. _Was that a blush on her face!?_ Arya wondered amazed.  
“Lady Arya,” Renly turned around to introduce them, “this’s Ser Edric Storm and this the Lady Brienne of Tarth.”

It turned out his bastard born nephew and the Maid of Tarth were here to compete in the tourney.  
“As mystery knights, of course!” Renly let her in on their plan. “So, I must swear you and the wonderful Jeyne to secrecy now.” he grinned and Jeyne eagerly vowed to never lose a word about this, surprising Arya somewhat.  
“Does anyone else know about this?” Arya asked, going with her gut.  
“Um, you know, just the usual suspects.” the stormlord jested tongue-in-cheek, “Another nephew or two, maybe a niece and a certain friend of mine and a close friend of yours …” _Of course!_

They spent all morning at the camp, and as usual Renly provided them with the most delicious things, as they watched Lady Brienne and Ser Edric spar and joust with their and Renly’s squires. But the longer Arya watched, especially Brienne of Tarth, the more her muscles urged her to get up and spar with them. Lady Brienne was living proof, _she wasn’t alone!_ Not the only woman in the Seven Kingdoms that refused to be reduced to wifely and motherly duties. Though, of course the Maid of Tarth was almost ten years older and her build answered that of a warrior far better than Arya’s. _But she had learned to use her build to her advantage!_ She was a smaller target, and a damn quick one at that. She knew she couldn’t match the brute force and strength of a grown man, and thus had learned to outsmart them. Either surprising them by swiftly striking at their most vulnerable spots, or by avoiding their blows long enough until they outspent themselves, opening their defences. And now she longed to prove herself against the Maid of Tarth and maybe Ser Edric as well, who was a talented fighter himself – with a similar fighting style to his older brother.

“Could we come here tomorrow again?” Arya blurted eventually, explaining she would like to join the sparring for a while then – if possible.  
“Don’t tell me my lady’s thinking of becoming a mystery knight herself now?” the stormlord teased.  
Nevertheless, he called the Maid of Tarth and his nephew and asked, if they could spare a moment or two the following day. Jesting, he would spar with Arya himself, if he wouldn’t fear to embarrass the Baratheon name, then. Though, unsurprisingly the young knight and the warrior lady exchanged a confused glance. And Lady Brienne explained apologetically, with the tourney so nigh she wouldn’t have time to teach Arya sword fighting. Yet, Renly quickly assured she wouldn’t need any lessons and Arya added, she just hadn’t had a sparring partner since Winterfell, but would have last practiced only this morning. At that, Edric Storm gave in, suggesting to the Maid of Tarth they could well spare a moment to give her a try. But Lady Brienne had still felt the need to tell Arya, she couldn’t be coming in a dress, then.  
“I won’t!” Arya promised and beamed with joy and excitement. Well, for a moment. Until she remembered her Lady Mother. But Renly assured, they would manage to smuggle her breeches and treasures out of the keep.

So, looking forward to her very first sparring session in over half a year, Arya now spent the afternoon somewhat content and smiling. She even did as her mother had asked, and re-joined the other ladies on the terrace. And although, she again had trouble to focus on what happened in the training yard, it now at least wasn’t solely because of _that stupid princeling_ anymore. Arya couldn’t wait to spar with the Maid of Tarth and his lookalike brother. _If she could beat his brother, she could beat him._ Hence she then fully enjoyed it, as Ser Barristan taught him a lesson in close combat. Bursting into laughter at the sight, Arya downright ignored the other ladies’ outraged murmurs and Sansa’s reprimanding, how it were improper to laugh at a prince. _Why?_ Ned, Loras and Trystane didn’t snort less with laughter.

And the following morning, she left her bed thrilled with excitement, and not even his next scroll ruined her splendid mood. “Did you have a good laugh today? At my expense.” this one said, and only made her laugh once more – remembering his dumb face, when he had lain on the ground. _This day nothing would sour her mood,_ Arya vowed to herself on the way to the camp, where a new tent had been erected. _Hers!_ As it turned out, when Renly’s squires carried the trunk with her treasures inside, so she could change out of her dress and into her sparring attire. _She could hardly believe her luck._

However, seeing her afterwards made Ser Edric and Lady Brienne drop their jaws.  
“My lady, I’d thought you’d wear some more padding or armour.” Edric Storm stammered perplexed.  
“You can hardly mean to spar with us like that, Lady Arya!” the Maid of Tarth added.  
“But I mean just that!” Arya stepped closer, trying not to grin smugly. _They were afraid of hurting her. They underestimated her. Good!_  
“No, my lady, I won’t fight you dressed like that!” Lady Brienne announced almost outraged.  
“Ser Edric it is, then.” Arya retorted confidently and the young knight stared at her in disbelief. His glance wandered from her to Renly to Lady Brienne and back to her. “Don’t worry, ser, I won’t hurt you!” Arya teased, “Not much, at least.” causing him to gasp in surprise.  
“Beware of the She-wolf of Winterfell, I’d say, nephew!” Renly snorted with laughter.  
While Arya eyed Edric Storm closely, watching his every reaction as she stepped closer. Light-footed like a cat, she encircled him – like wolves did with their prey. _She could beat him!_ In his state of confusion and insecurity she could do so quick and easy. It would prove her point to him and Brienne of Tarth. _But where would be the fun in that?_

“I’d prefer you to strike first, ser!” Arya announced when he still didn’t move, “Men tend to claim they weren’t ready yet, when they find my sword at their throats rather quickly.” Renly roared with laughter at that and even the Maid of Tarth chuckled slightly. “Go on! I’m not made of glass and I know how to dodge a blow.” Arya challenged, “But you only find out, if you try!”  
“My lady, you haven’t even drawn your sword!?” Edric Storm stated puzzled.  
“I don’t think I need it for the first round.” she teased, seeing he wouldn’t dare to strike at her for real, “But you’ll need yours, I advise you to draw it now.”  
Sadly, he still didn’t move and she lost her patience, _she hadn’t come here to stroll around him._ She locked eyes with Ser Edric – _stormy blue just like his_ – but her fighting instinct didn’t allow _that stupid prince_ to mess with her head now. As soon as she was certain the young knight didn’t expect her attack, she spun around.  
Hearing Lady Brienne’s alarmed voice, “EDRIC!”  
But it was too late, he never managed to draw his sword, her dagger was at this throat before his hand had reached the hilt.  
“You’re dead, ser.” she smirked and he blinked at her in surprise, before they heard Renly applaud and laughing out loud.

Then, Arya stepped away from the dumbfounded knight, addressing him and Lady Brienne, “Yes, I’m small and slim, and a girl at that. But I can fight! And I’d very much like to prove that to the both of you. But to do so, I need you to stop underestimating me because of my appearance.”  
“Alright, I’ll fight you, my lady!” the older woman looked at her somewhat intrigued now.  
“Call me Arya!” she smiled, “Both of you!”  
“Very well, Arya. I’m Brienne.” the warrior lady grinned, as they began encircling each other.  
And curiosity won the upper hand over the Maid of Tarth, she drew her sword and attacked. Forcing Arya rather quickly to draw her own, as they danced around each other. Brienne’s blows were deadlier, but Arya landed more. Smaller ones, yet, deadly in summary. While the men and their squires watched their dance of swords in awe.

And Edric Storm murmured absently, “I didn’t expect her …”   
“… to actually be able to fight!?” Renly smirked and ruffled his stunned nephew’s hair.  
“To be that good!” Ser Edric corrected.  
“Her dancing master and her brothers trained her since she was nine, my lords.” Jeyne explained.  
“I can see that!” Edric Storm grinned and soon wanted to spar with Arya himself.  
Though, she noticed, unlike Brienne he still held some of his strength back when he fought her. But that didn’t surprise her. _He was a man, after all._ Grown up to hearing, women were weak and fragile and needed protection. So, she couldn’t do anything else but best him as many times as possible to slowly convince him, he didn’t need to hold back. And close to noon, Arya was so excited and happy, Renly saw himself forced to invite her for the following day as well. Stating, he wouldn’t have anything better to do anyway, with all his friends at the keep occupied elsewhere. Just like hers.

So, on her return to the keep, Arya felt genuinely balanced and relaxed. For the first time since she had left Winterfell. _She had craved for this. Had needed it. To feel alive again. Truly alive._ And even her father noticed it, telling her he had missed seeing her beaming like that – only he misjudged it for a sign that she were settling in now. _Never!_ She knew after the tourney – if her mother would follow through with her plan to chaperone her – joy and excitement were nothing she could expect from her life from then on. _Not here in King’s Landing._ But until then, Arya intended to live her life to the fullest.

It was a true pity, Lady Catelyn never realised how much more affable Arya was after sparring. Since once more she didn’t mind spending the afternoon with the other ladies on the terrace. She even engaged somewhat in conversation with them, explaining to them what she was seeing in the training yard. What hinted to her who would win a duel. Which opponent acted smarter. Who was easily provoked into making mistakes. Or who she suspected would still hold back his strength or skills. And to her surprise, Lady Margaery was the one most keen to listen. Though, of course not without first uttering her less subtle side blows.  
“All these women are just here to beguile the knights and princes. So, it’s truly refreshing to see you’re the exception to that.” the Tyrell woman chirped, “Say, sweet Arya, may I ask for your expertise on how our crown prince is faring down there?”  
“Sure, my lady.”  
“Please, call me Margaery, my dear Arya.” _The viper obviously thought her stupid._ But Arya didn’t mind, _she underestimated her._

In the following days, Arya quickly developed a certain routine, a schedule even. She would get up before dawn and sneak to the secret door. _Just to see, if he finally had given up. And if not, then she could hardly leave a secret message, possibly addressed to her namely for someone else to find. Better to collect it and destroy it,_ she told herself the first few times. And so she would pick them up and sneak back to her chamber. Where she would come up with reasons why she better should read them, before she would light them up to pretend they never existed.

And afterwards, she would get ready for her ride with Renly – the official name for their arrangement. Then she would break her fast with her father and would spend the rest of the morning sparring with the squires, Brienne and Edric. Though, from the third day on, she would also practice archery and riding at rings and at quintain. Which she hadn’t done since Winterfell, either. And on the sixth day, Edric even suggested to joust with her. Which then resulted in Arya secretly deciding, she should indeed compete as mystery knight herself, at least in horse racing, archery and jousting.

Whereas her daily schedule at the Red Keep had mostly remained the same. She would spend the afternoons with the ladies on the terrace until supper. Though, Arya no longer minded. Due to her exercising in the mornings, it was easier to ignore the silliness of the other ladies now. Also, she was even more eager now to study the men in the training yard. _She needed to know her opponents._ And it pretty much was her only chance to see Ned now. Or _him._ Since after her sleeping trouble had faded – again due to her busy schedule – she didn’t mind watching him in the yard anymore. Even though, she still kept thinking about him, especially when alone in her chamber, she now no longer felt tormented and haunted by him – which was why she allowed herself to smile again when she read his messages.

The day after her first sparring with Brienne and Edric, his message had said, “You looked happy today.” _And she was._ So, no harm had been done by him stating the obvious. However, the following day Arya hadn’t only found a scroll, saying, “Am I ever getting a response?” but also ink, quill, parchment and a candle.  
Yet, for asking such a stupid question, she had decided to answer in an equally stupid way, “No.”  
To which he then had replied, “Really?”  
And she then had retorted, “Yes, really. You are really stupid.”  
“I like that you are not. P.S. You realise I keep beating him?” had stood in his following message.  
And to that she had replied, “Does not mean you are quick.”  
“Does not mean he is better.” he had claimed.  
“Does not mean you are better.” she had declared.  
“Yes, it does.” his next message had stated.  
“Keep on dreaming.” she had mocked.  
And he had teased, “I will. And you, are you already swooning?”  
To which she had responded, “Again, keep on dreaming.”  
And he then had replied, “Again, I will! P.S. A certain tomcat seems to miss you. Care to do something about it? Nightfall.”  
“Breeches mandatory, I presume?” she had teased, even though, she hadn’t known if he would get the message before they would meet.

Arya couldn’t really tell, when exactly she had begun to look forward to his messages, she just realised that she now somehow did. And the longer their little parchment war went on, the more fun she had at it. Finding herself silently grinning and chuckling behind the secret door every day before dawn now. Or in case of his latest message, leaning against the cool stone wall, trying to calm her racing heart.

Her life could have gone on like that forever. _Well, almost._ She still missed the North. _Her brothers. The wolves. Winterfell. The godswood. Mycah. Syrio. Mikken. Osha. Maester Luwin. Old Nan. Hodor. Ser Rodrik. The Wolfswood. The snow. The cold. The vastness of the land._ Yet, she had something she liked in the south now, too. Well, more like someone. Someones. _Ned. Myrcella. Balerion. Renly. Brienne. Edric. Tommen. Loras. Hot Pie. Lommy. And of course him. Him in particular._ His latest message made her wonder all morning, what he might have in mind for the night. _Another trip to Flea Bottom? To the tavern? Or maybe exploring the other tunnels? All she knew was, it would be something she would like. Something special._ Hence, she didn’t even notice how distracted she suddenly was, until Brienne landed a heavy blow on her left forearm. And little did she know, this would lead to her downfall mere hours later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHY ARYA IS ACTING AS SHE DOES
> 
> Arya starts realising she has more than friendly feelings for Gendry and it freaks her out. She is scared. But not just because she all of sudden develops feelings for a man - something she had thought impossible until she met Gendry. But what increases her fear is that she is falling for the crown prince, a man she can't be with without compromising herself. If Gendry were just the bastard blacksmith from canon, Arya wouldn't be so afraid of her own feelings now.
> 
> NEEDLE VS. PRACTICE SWORD
> 
> Arya only practices with Needle when she is alone and not really hitting at things. She wouldn't use Needle for sparring with someone, risking to ruin the blade when hitting hard targets like steel armour or another blade. For sparring Arya has a practice sword, no wooden training sword as she used when she was litte, but a real one of steel, about the size and weight of Needle, only with a blunt blade.


	9. The Ribbon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's happy times in the south come to an abrupt end. And who could be culprit? Catelyn, of course! Who apparently had been paying more attention than her wild daughter had assumed. Now Arya has to pay the price for letting down her guard with her mother. And it ain't gonna be pretty. From Arya's perspective. Others might see it just the other way around. So, the downward spiral for Arya is back into motion and it looks like it might increasing speed soon.

Unbeknownst to Arya her Lady Mother and Sansa hadn’t only commissioned and worked on new gowns for themselves but for her as well. And thus, Lady Catelyn had arranged Arya’s fitting with the dressmaker after her alleged ride with Renly. _It shouldn’t have been a big deal._ Her mother had been busy finishing some embroidery and hadn’t been paying attention to Arya's undressing and slipping into the skirts of a new gown. It wouldn’t have been a big deal. If Arya hadn’t had a nice fresh bruise blooming on her arm. Or if the dressmaker hadn’t gasped in shock at seeing it. _Bloody seamstress._  
“What in the gods’ names is that!?” Catelyn Tully had glared at her daughter’s arm, “What have you done?”  
“Fell off the horse…” Arya had claimed sullenly. Though, of course, her mother had known it was a lie and Arya had known her mother knew.

But two days before the tourney, Lady Stark couldn’t delay the fitting, and therefore had kept a straight face while the dressmaker had pinned Arya’s new gowns. The woman hadn’t had much pinning to do, since she clearly had had her measurements, but the sum of new dresses had made the fitting last all afternoon. Fourteen in total, _one damn gown for every damn tourney day!_ They were awful pieces of cloth, especially one green one. _With bloody acorns on it! Whose idea was that!? Why couldn’t she just wear Stark colours?_ Grey and white. And blue for Stark women, because of the winter roses. These colours she actually liked. Especially blue. _The colour of the infinite sky. The colour of freedom … and his eyes._

However, after supper, which had been a rather quiet and awkward episode, her Lord Father and Lady Mother demanded to know, how she really had come by the bruise on her arm. _Because of him. Who else made her stumble from one chiding into the next, lately?_ But she could hardly tell them, in fact she couldn’t tell them anything. _Not without ruining everything._ So, Arya just folded her arms in front of her chest and glared defiantly at her mother.  
Who outraged proclaimed, she were able to identify a sparring bruise by now. “And don’t think I hadn’t seen the fading ones on your back and legs, so stop denying it!” Catelyn Tully hissed.  
“Child, you need to tell us the truth now!” her father tried in a more understanding tone, “Who were you sparring with?”  
But Arya couldn’t give in, not without stitching someone else up, “No one.” she claimed sullenly.  
“This isn’t how we raised you! You’ve always had a mind of your own, but you never lied to us—” her father replied, evidently disappointed.  
“To _you,_ maybe! She’s lied to me on countless times.” Lady Catelyn interrupted, “And I warned you this’d happen, Ned!”  
Ignoring his wife’s side blow, her father asked, “Child, are you protecting someone?” _Try plural!_  
“No.” she growled.

“I’ve had enough of this!” Lady Stark fumed and made for the door, yelling, “Guard!”  
As her husband sat down on the chair next to Arya, “Child, don’t you understand, we’re worried about you! This isn’t Winterfell. The people here didn’t see you grow up, they don’t understand. If you’re seen here sneaking around alone with a boy or a man, the truth won’t matter. It won’t matter we believe you. You’d be ruined.”  
“Is that all you care about now, my stupid reputation? What about _me!?_ ” Arya spat in utter frustration, hating to see her father looking hurt now. _But it had to be said! They were hurting her, too._  
“Child—” he attempted to appease her.  
But was interrupted by his wife returning to the room, snarling at Arya, “Did you really think, I wouldn’t get suspicious!? Seeing you suddenly behaving all nice and proper, for almost a fortnight now!” before she turned to face the door, calling, “Send them in!” _Them who!?_  
Arya didn’t understand. Until it dawned on her, but then her father’s steward and behind him Jeyne already entered the room. _Seven hells._

“Now we’ll get the truth! One way or another.” Lady Catelyn announced, before she thanked Vayon Poole and his daughter for joining them so quickly. Though, they both clearly felt uneasy about being summoned so suddenly. And when Jeyne’s eyes fell on Arya they widened in fear, realising what this was about. _Damn._  
“Jeyne, could you please explain to us, how our daughter came to return from the ride this morning with a bruised arm?” Lord Eddard asked, smiling kindly at the young woman.  
Still, Jeyne glanced instantly at Arya again. _Fool!_ She signalled her wordlessly to keep her mouth shut.  
“Don’t look at her, Jeyne, look at me!” Lady Stark demanded.  
Yet, Jeyne barely managed to hold eye contact and sought out her own father’s eyes for reassuring.  
“Tell them, you silly girl!” the steward unsurprisingly sided with Lord and Lady Stark.  
“Um, my lord, my lady—” Jeyne stammered, staring at her skirts’ hem.  
“FINE. I was sparring with Renly’s squires. But nothing more!” Arya burst out, still hoping not to have to spill all the beans, “Right, Jeyne!?” she looked at the other girl, narrowing her eyes – warning her.

But her mother was out for blood now, hers or Jeyne’s, “Then how come you didn’t tell me of this, Jeyne!?”  
“Leave her alone!” Arya hissed, “I threatened her. That’s why!”  
“Is that so, Jeyne!?”  
“Mm, yes, my lady.” Jeyne nodded, staring at her skirts again.  
“Well, since our daughter evidently is no longer in a position to make any threats here, I wonder is there anything else we might want to know, dear Jeyne?” Lady Catelyn studied the young woman closely and once more Jeyne’s glance flew to Arya, who again silently warned her to shut up now. In vain. Catelyn Tully watched their exchange clearly pleased, “Say, Jeyne, is it possible you could tell us what Arya’s been up to lately?” and the young woman nodded.   
“Don’t you dare!” Arya jumped from her chair, “You vowed—”  
But was held back by her father, “Arya, enough!” he reprimanded in his lord voice, before he addressed the steward’s daughter, “Jeyne, go on! Tell us, what we need to know.” his voice then soft again, encouraging and kind.

So, in the end, Lady Catelyn naturally managed to tickle all of Arya’s secrets out of poor Jeyne Poole. _Well, those Jeyne knew of._ The one she had figured out on her own, that Lord Renly and Ser Loras weren’t actually courting Arya. The one she had overheard, that Arya intended to place bets in the tourney. And eventually even the one Arya had let her in on – only two days ago – that she wanted to compete in the tourney. _Stupid!_ Arya scolded herself.

A couple of days before, she had seen herself forced to confide in Renly, realising, she couldn’t pull it off all alone. First most, she had needed some more armour, like helmet and shield, and also caparison and chanfron for her stallion. So, she and Renly had come up with a plan, that included storing her equipment in Brienne’s tent, where she also should dress, so they wouldn’t need to guard another mystery knight’s tent from prying eyes. But most of all, they had agreed, attention needed to be distracted away from Arya, especially that of her Lady Mother. Which was why they eventually had let Jeyne in. To pose as Arya, being seen going for a stroll or a ride with Renly, while she competed in the contests.

Though, all that had been for nothing now. _She should have known better! Should have covered her bruises, and most importantly should have found someone else to pass off as her. Someone who wouldn’t tremble in fear of Catelyn Tully._ The only reason why Arya didn’t feel like murdering Jeyne right there on the spot, was, that the girl didn’t prove entirely spineless. She had indeed revealed everything she knew about Arya, but never once mentioned there were two more mystery knights involved. _Thankfully._

However, what actually stunned Arya that evening, was her father’s reaction to hearing all this. She had expected him to be shocked and disappointed, like her mother. But not to see him sink down in a chair, his face all pale and empty of emotions, except for his eyes. Looking at her absently, _full of pain and sadness._ At first, he didn’t even respond to his wife’s scolding, after Jeyne and Vayon were dismissed.  
“Why am I even surprised!? Of course, she wants to compete in a tourney! After all that nonsense you allowed her.” Lady Catelyn ranted.  
And Arya defiantly hissed, “It’s not nonsense! _It’s what I want! What I’m actually good at_ … unlike stupid sewing and stitching!”  
“Ned, please tell me you see reason now! This has to stop. At once!” her Lady Mother demanded, ignoring her daughter’s objection.

Thus, the upshot of it all was, Arya was sent to her room while her father and mother retired to the lord’s chamber – to discuss her future. In private. _As if it weren’t something that concerned her!_ she thought fuming. _All because of a little bruise and Jeyne’s big mouth! Everything ruined, she had worked for so hard. She should’ve known! Shouldn’t have let her guard down. Shouldn’t have underestimated her mother …_ Slumping down at her small desk, she furiously grabbed quill and parchment. _No need to take others down with her._ And decided to rather risk everything now, instead of letting Renly unsuspectingly walk into a trap.

“Why the hurry!? I’m not going anywhere without you!” Gendry teased upon seeing her storming into the vault, “Though, I thought we’d agreed on breeches—” At once, his mischievous grin made way for concern, “What’s wrong!?” he swiftly strode towards her, heading her off.  
“You have to warn him! Renly!” she handed him her message, gasping for air, “Give him this! Tonight!”  
“What!?” he stared at her, startled.  
“Read it, if you like! It’s not sealed. But take it to him, tonight!” she panted, “I’ve to go.”  
“Wait, Arya!” he caught her arm, “Whatever it is, I want to help—”  
“Then warn your uncle, and protect the squires! I don’t want anyone else getting punished for my stupidity, least these boys.”  
“I will!” he promised and asked clearly worried, “Should I halt … with the messages!?” _He should. Definitively._  
Still, she heard herself saying, “No! I’ll collect them at dawn, during change of guard.”  
Before she ran back to her chamber as fast as she could, wondering, _why hadn’t she told him to stop!? It was reckless! Especially now._

Yet, in the morning she had known why, reading, “Stags stand their ground against wolves. P.S. A Hand may have the king’s ear. But you have mine.” She had thought of replying with a tease, like, of course she would have his ear, both of them actually, after having chewed them off now twice. But then had decided not to make fun of him, for once. Therefore, “Thank you.” had been her only reply, before she had snuck back to her bed, somewhat relieved and even smiling.

Nevertheless, it had been a short relief. Her father had summoned her before noon, declaring, Lord Renly would no longer court her. And neither would Ser Loras.  
“To allow appropriate suitors to woo you.” her Lady Mother had spelled it out. _As if she wouldn’t know why!_  
Furthermore, they had informed her, Renly would have returned her possessions, though, they would have taken them into custody. _What!?_ Arya had ranted, _those were her belongings!_ And had demanded them back. But Catelyn Tully had retorted frigidly, she should count herself lucky they weren’t melted down, yet. _Seven hells! Her Needle, melted down!?_ Arya had glared at her mother in absolute fury, then. Knowing, her father wouldn’t even think of threatening her like that. _Damn hawk of a mother._

But Lady Catelyn had entirely unimpressed proclaimed, if Arya would want to see her possessions returned to her, she would need to earn it. Earn back their trust. _More like hers!_ And cunning as her Lady Mother was, she of course had offered ‘the perfect solution for _her_ dilemma’. The tourney should serve as her punishment and path to redemption. For its time, Arya would ‘only’ have to act as her status demanded. _Meaning, doing her mother’s every bidding!_ Becoming the obedient little lady, Catelyn Tully had always tried to mould her into, vainly. _Until now!_ With Arya _herself providing the perfect leverage. Stupid! You bloody, stupid fool!_ she had chided herself, clenching her fists enraged. Yet, had remained silent. To save the one item that meant the world to her. _She would get it back! One way or another. Even if she had to steal it … and then run for her life from her own mother!_

And thus, the tourney in celebration of Robert’s nameday had begun, with an opening ceremony in the Red Keep the day after. Where Arya had found herself in quite the same situation as on her first day at court, half a year ago. Playing along and pretending she were a proper lady once more. Though, feeling even more miserable as back then. Since not even Gendry's message at dawn, saying, "Are you in big trouble? I am happy to help. If you would let me." had managed to console her for the loss of Needle and she had sullenly replied, "Nothing I cannot handle."

So, like last time, the feast began with the nobles gathering in the Great Hall, waiting for the royal family to join them. Only this night, Arya didn't have to follow Sansa around like a pup. Ned was luckily already there and instantly asked her Lord Father and Lady Mother, if he were allowed to keep her company for the evening. And thankfully he then quickly led her out of her parents’ sight and earshot.  
“Please, don’t leave my side tonight!" Arya huffed, "Or else she’ll make me dance and sweet-talk with _every damn_ eligible bachelor in this hall.”  
“Not gonna happen, my lady!” Ned laughed, assuring, “I’ve barely seen you this past fortnight. So, tonight you’re all mine. Like it or not!”  
Arya didn't mind. If she had to suffer through this anew madness, she was more than happy to do so with him.

And then Lady Catelyn even offered him the seat between her and Arya for the banquet. So, Ned not only shielded her from other suitors, but from her very own mother as well. Though, to Arya’s dismay it soon became clear, Catelyn Tully had only done so to give Ned a broad hint. While he politely chatted with her – obviously playing dumb – Lady Stark wasn't precisely subtle in her attempt to push him into courting Arya officially. _To finally request her hand in marriage!_ It was embarrassing. And a less kind and patient man would have stood up outraged. So, Arya was rather glad, when the royal family finally arrived to open the banquet, shutting her mother up for a while.

The king entered the hall, greeted by cheers and toasts to his wellbeing. And took his seat at the dais, after a toast from the crown prince.  
Who then announced, unlike before, this tourney wouldn’t start with a reigning Queen of Love and Beauty and her five champions. “Apologies, dear sister!” he addressed Myrcella, “Though, I hope it may be of comfort to you to know, next time you’ll not only have two but three brothers defending your honour.”  
And Tommen quickly vowed to proof himself worthy of the task during the following days.  
“But please, don’t give up hope just yet, sweet sister!” the crown prince then went on, “I’m sure there are many knights and maybe even a prince in this hall, intent to crown you with the garland, anyway.” and hinted a slight bow towards Prince Trystane at the end.  
Causing Myrcella to beam with joy, but souring the queen’s and Joffrey’s expressions into glares.  
And the king wasn't exactly whispering in his reprimanding, “You bloody oaf had to act on your own authority, huh!? You might keep in mind, I’m not yet dead, BOY!”  
But the crown prince only shrugged, trying to hide his growing smirk.

“What’s going on?” Arya asked, seeing everyone in the hall now murmuring and whispering.  
“He just publicly endorsed Prince Trystane’s courtship. Against the will of the king and queen.” Sansa explained. _Oh._  
“Maybe he’d defy the queen in a different matter now, as well?” Margaery grinned at Sansa, “This tourney just got a lot more interesting, don’t you think?”  
“What do you mean!?” Arya frowned, realising, _the viper was up to something. And likely, nothing good._  
“Oh, you know, just gut instinct.” the snake grinned smugly and unlike Arya, her sister seemed to understand, smiling happily afterwards.

Whereas Ned had gotten unusually quiet after that. Thus Arya feared, he might have lost his patience with her Lady Mother, after all.  
“Are you alright, Ned?” she inquired worried, “You know you can tell me, if you weren’t. If she annoys you, I’ll tell her to stop!”  
“No, it’s not that. Your mother’s rather kind, actually.” he assured.  
Yet, kept brooding for a while longer as they watched Loras and Sansa, the champion and Queen of Love and Beauty of the last tourney, lead the dance.

Though, upon seeing the crown prince heading towards their table, Ned of a sudden took her hand and spoke, “Arya, um, would you do me the honour—” he paused and they both side-glanced at their friend, who then asked Margaery to dance. “Um, would you allow me to wear your favour in the tourney?” Ned blurted, his face flushed bright red. _What!?_  
Arya blinked in disbelief, “Did Mother suggest this?”  
“Well, she did somehow mention the ribbon in your hair. That it could be worn as such.” Ned admitted sheepishly. _She had planned it all along!_  
Arya’s eyes narrowed and she felt anger boil up inside of her.  
“But, um, I wanted to ask you, anyway!” Ned assured, almost stammering now.  
“Don’t make a scene, give him your ribbon!” her Lady Mother hissed into her ear, before she followed her husband smilingly to dance, leaving Arya glaring at her back. _Why not marry her off right away and be done with it!? Best to that nasty old riverlord!_

Huffing, Arya gave in, “Fine! You shall have the damn ribbon.” yet made clear, “But not because she wants me to do it! And this is the last time you do my mother’s bidding, understood?”  
“Understood.” Ned chuckled, “Though, technically your mother had nothing to do with it.” he claimed. And watched her somehow delighted as she removed the ribbon – matching her blue gown – and tied it around his arm. For everyone to unmistakably recognise as her favour, when he asked her to dance only moments later. Which of course, she couldn’t refuse, either. Her cunning mother had made sure of that in advance, reminding Arya of the leverage she now held against her. _As if she would forget!_  

Nevertheless, Ned proved his insightfulness once more, leading her back to her seat at the table after their third dance. _Or maybe he was just embarrassed of her constantly tripping over her own feet._ Yet, he kept his promise and didn't leave her side that night. But Arya soon came to realise, it wasn't solely his company, but rather the stupid ribbon that shooed most of the other bachelors away now. She probably would have thought it funny, if the four knights, who nonetheless asked her to dance, had actually asked her and not him – if he minded if they would. _As if she had no say in it anymore!_

Of course, Ned politely denied all four of them but in doing so, he only added to Arya’s increasing discomfort. Although, she had asked him to keep her other suitors at bay that night, it soon felt, as if he would deny her a will of her own now, too. _Because of a damn piece of cloth around his arm!_ But the worst was, apart from her, no one else seemed to care. Neither her father, nor Ned himself. _What was wrong with them!?_ And so, if it hadn't been for Needle, Arya would have undoubtedly reclaimed her ribbon the same night. To free herself from this invisible chain that now apparently bound her to Ned. _Thanks to her mother!_

And only the next morning she had discovered, at least someone else questioned the whole damn ribbon thing as well, “Once more, I seem to fail to understand your logic. I had thought you would not root for him. Yet, he wears your favour now …” Gendry’s message then had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHY DID I RUIN IT ALL FOR ARYA
> 
> I'm a misogynic sadist, obviously. No, seriously, one of the things I like most about Arya as character is how even as she loses everything (in canon), she finds the strength to go on and even define her own fate against all odds. And that is what I’m trying here as well. 
> 
> And since Margaery at this point is only a minor character at the side lines and Cersei even more - Catelyn has to be the villain, her nemesis, Arya has to beat. 
> 
> Also I believe this conflict between Cat and Arya is quite realistic, at least I could totally see them fight like hell over Arya’s future (marriage, becoming a classic lady) in an AU where Arya would have stayed in the North longer.
> 
> And come on, Arya in my story was a bit stupid and reckless. Believing her mother, who is a smart woman, wouldn’t get suspicious or wouldn’t find out at least a few of her secrets. All that sneaking around and keeping secrets – from her parents and sister and even from Ned – it just has to blow up into her face, eventually. And the mystery knight part now did.
> 
> ARYA'S IGNORANCE
> 
> I'm not sure if I can transport it well enough storytelling-wise, there is a lot of stuff going on in the background or rather beyond Arya's attention. There are a lot of things she fails to see, since she still is just 16. And you know, we've all been there. At that age, everyone is a super smart-ass, thinking one knows and understands everything of a sudden. But that's not true, there is still a lot to learn, that is why in my story Arya is still ignorant of a lot things. 
> 
> Like, she still doesn't see that Ned is in love with her and the same goes for Gendry, there she only started realising, that she kind of likes him now.
> 
> ARYA & THE RIBBON
> 
> Of course, at some point in her lessons with Septa Mordane Arya must have heard about the secret meaning of giving one's favour to a man in a tourney, but back then she only cared who won the damn tourneys and how. And she certainly, didn't expect to ever find herself in such a situation with a man wanting to wear her (Arya Horseface's) favour. So why should she have thought about such things before this night!? And thus Arya didn't really think of the consequences what allowing Ned to wear her favour in the tourney meant.
> 
> Arya thought, giving Ned her ribbon, allowing him to wear her favour would mainly mean, that she is showing to everyone she is supporting/favouring Ned in the tourney - as a sportsman/fighter (not as eligible bachelor). That her favour would show, she believes in his fighting skills and that it should work as lucky charm. 
> 
> So, she only hesitated, because she is not superstitious. And thinks it were all her mother's idea. And of course, she thinks it a corny tradition and of obviously, Ned is not the only knight in the tourney she favours/supports, so she also thinks it were kind of unfair to only support Ned and not Gendry as well.
> 
> But Arya didn't think/know everyone else would see this as a kind of pre-betrothal. As Arya giving Ned his blessing to ask for her hand. But Catelyn, Ned, Gendry and everyone else knew that.
> 
> NED & THE RIBBON
> 
> Somehow Ned tricked Arya as well, and even paraded her around right after he got the ribbon - by asking her to dance, so every man in the room (especially Gendry) should see and think that Arya chose him as her future husband. 
> 
> Ned clearly saw on the rides where Gendry suddenly started showing up, that Arya likes Gendry and knows for sure that Gendry is in love with her. So, he started panicking and it's getting worse. He knows, he needs to act soon, if he wants to win her. 
> 
> That is why Ned wanted to know if Arya would root for him in the tourney in chapter 7. He had planned to ask for her favour already then. And obviously he then also decided to fight for Arya, since he boldly had told Gendry that Arya would root for him. That was his attempt to try to make Gendry back off. 
> 
> Though of course that was his mistake as well, since he believed Gendry would only have seen/met Arya on those rides and would not see/speak her anymore before the tourney.


	10. The Tourney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The much-anticipated tourney finally happens. Though, without a certain Northern mystery knight. Cat makes Arya sit and watch it front row and Arya so badly wants to yell at her mother and everyone else, for not allowing her to compete. But she can't. Cat has Needle and is blackmailing Arya into doing her every bidding. But of course, that doesn't keep a crown prince from messing with Arya's head and subtly even with Cat's great scheme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you sooooooooooo much for your many many kudos and lovely comments. I still can't believe how the comment section under chapter 9 suddenly exploded and how many kudos you gave me for it. I hope, you liked this installment just as well.

While Gendry most likely had had a good laugh at her expense, him just noticing the ribbon, realising how odd such a gesture was for someone like her and asking what reason she could have had for doing such a stupid thing, had been a scrap of comfort to her. _Especially since apparently no one else cared!_ Nonetheless, the reason _why_ should have been obvious, even to him.  
“Did you not see who chewed his right ear off all night?” she replied, frustrated and mad at her mother for blackmailing her and manipulating Ned like that.

And although, Lady Catelyn clearly was more than pleased with the outcome of the previous night, Arya hadn’t managed to regain her mother’s trust after the feast. Apparently had her Lady Mother finally come to realise, that she never would outgrow her wild nature – if not even life at court and a decent man like Ned Dayne were able to tame her. So, now it seemed, her mother were intent to break her spirit, if necessary. To finally bend her to her will, and soon. Since both, Catelyn Tully and Arya knew, if she were to actually accomplish the unthinkable, her mother would lose her leverage immediately. Eddard Stark would never allow his wife to break their agreement and Arya would make sure, _her mother would never get hold of Needle again. Ever!_

Therefore Lady Stark woke Arya that morning personally, giving her precise instructions for the day. What gown to wear. At who to smile. With whom to talk. Who to avoid. What to do and what not. Where to sit. Where to stay away. _Like the contestants’ tents._ And most of all, how to encourage Lord Dayne to finally ask for her hand in marriage.  
“Though, only within scope of propriety, of course.” her mother remarked.  
_Pity, since she felt so much like kissing Ned,_ Arya thought cynically. Knowing, Catelyn Tully didn’t mean to stop badgering her any time soon. Her mother was clearly aiming for an imminent betrothal now, preferably to the Lord of Starfall. Although, Arya assumed, that was mainly in consequence of Lady Catelyn’s belief Ned were the most likely candidate to actually propose marriage before long. _You’ll be waiting until the cows come home!_ Arya thought on the carriage ride to the arena.

The tourney arena half a league west of King’s Landing was impressive and indisputably one of Robert’s attempts to outshine his predecessors, who had left the old Targaryen arena to decay. A fate this one wouldn’t face as long as Robert lived. The Baratheon king only loved two things more than a good fight – women and wine – and hosted at least two tourneys a year.  
“Probably even more, if the Small Council would allow it.” her father once had fumed.  
The royal loge by itself provided seats for at least thirty people and was flanked by large terraces for the nobles and their household members, facing the stands for common people on the opposite site, with a huge sandy tourney ground in between. _The perfect stage to prove one’s skills._ Though, that hadn’t exactly helped to cheer Arya up. _She was supposed to be down there!_

Not in the front row on the terrace right to the royal loge – playing sitting duck for the contestants, alongside her sister and Margaery Tyrell. And all the other unmarried ladies in waiting. However, at this point, that was as far away as she could get from her Lady Mother, without endangering Needle. So, Arya almost felt grateful to for once be out of earshot and partly out of sight of her mother. Well, at least her face was, since Lady Catelyn was seated next to her husband in the royal loge. Robert sat on the throne in the midst of it, two Kingsguard knights standing behind him, while the queen and Myrcella were seated to his left and Lord and Lady Stark to his right, with the members of the Small Council and the king’s favourite nobles in the rows behind them.

But still Arya felt trapped and literally nailed to the spot, unable to escape without losing her treasured sword – and her sister immediately reprimanding her sullen expression didn’t help either.  
“Why even care, Sansa!? It makes you look all the prettier next to your ugly little sister!” Arya snorted, without even looking at her.  
“Oh, please… Get over yourself! The horseface teases were just that, childish teasing.” Sansa retorted unimpressed, “But if you wish to frown and glare all day long, fine, I don’t care. I’ve bigger fish to fry than keeping you in check—”  
“You mean, you’ve a prince to catch!” Arya mocked.  
Causing Sansa to glare at her, “Says the one who’s as good as betrothed to dashing Lord Day—”  
“Rubbish! That stupid ribbon means nothing.” Arya protested, “Mother tricked us!”  
“Mother didn’t trick anyone.” Sansa snorted, “At least not him! But I guess, you’ll find out soon enough, huh!?”  
“Nonsense!” Arya snapped, “You don’t know him! You’ve barely spoken a word with him—”  
“First of all, that’s not true! And second, I don’t have to speak with a man to see how he looks at my baby sister!” Sansa stated smugly, “Who’s just too blind or too stupid to see—”  
“I’m not blind … or stupid! You’re just wrong!” Arya snarled.  
“If you say so…” Sansa mocked and demonstratively engaged in conversation with Margaery then, ignoring Arya’s further objections.

The first few contest days, mainly squires-only competitions, just added to Arya’s frustration. Since all she got to see then, was, that she could have stood her ground against these saplings. _Easily._ And with her small build _she wouldn’t even have stuck out amongst them._ She could have effortlessly come off amongst the last ten in the squires-only melee. Apart from Tommen, who emerged the winner, were there only seven other squires she thought any good at fighting. Meaning, good enough to best her, _if they were lucky._ Yet, watching them riding at rings and at quintain was even worse. _She would have beaten all of them! Possibly even if they had blindfolded her._ Arya huffed angrily, fearing she would lose her mind before the end of the sennight.

And she probably would have, if it weren’t for her stolen moments beyond the reach of Catelyn Tully’s claws. Or anybody else’s. Her small moments of freedom and somewhat happiness, especially since Gendry apparently sided with her on the whole ribbon nonsense. _It felt good to have someone in her corner._ Someone who didn’t push her into choices and directions, she didn’t want. Someone who actually accepted her for who she was. Who even encouraged her to rebel against her mother.  
After telling him the ribbon hadn’t been her idea, his next message stunned her, “You are not exactly known for playing by the rules. So, why not stultify her and him, and allow someone else to wear your favour as well?”  
“And you are proposing who? Yourself?” Arya asked, unsure if that was what he had aimed for.  
“Not necessarily. I could not wear it openly, without disgruntling certain someones. But maybe in secret. If you wanted me to.” he replied then, astonishing her even more.  
Hence it took her a while to come up with a smart reply. “How about I just give ribbons to all contestants? Then even you could wear it publicly.” she teased. And it would have been a brilliant idea to sneer at the whole ribbon charade, if it hadn’t been for Needle. And Ned, who would have been ridiculed the most by such a jest. _No, he deserved better._ Even though he had caused the whole mess.

Though, Gendry apparently disagreed, “Sounds like a plan. I am in. P.S. Nice gown.” his following message said – after her mother had made her wear that awful green dress.  
So, of course he mocked her for that. _Who could blame him?_ If someone else had worn it, she would have snorted with laughter at the sight herself.  
Yet, now she couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, “I looked like an oak tree, with all these stupid acorns.”  
“Nice, though. A nice oak tree.” he replied. _Was he still mocking her!? And what if he wasn’t?_ Her heart flipped at the thought. _No, stupid! He was jesting._  
So, she responded, “Well, if you like it so much, you can have it! For I intend to rip it to pieces.”  
And put that plan into action the following night, as watching the archery competition later that day only added to her frustration.

She obviously wouldn’t have won. The victory was rightfully that of a young redhead from the Dornish Marches. But she could have made it to the last thirty, _maybe even last twenty?_ She could have even competed in that stupid acorn gown, looking all proper and ladylike at doing so. _So, why the hells wasn’t she allowed? It made no sense!_ Therefore, the stupid dress fell prey to a wolf that night. Ripping, tearing and shredding it to pieces, to finally blow off some steam. However, when Arya was done, sitting exhaustedly amidst the messy remains of what once had been a stupid acorn dress, her glance landed upon an appliqué she had ripped off the neckline. _Looks like …_ she thought and grinned, getting an idea.  
Apparently the same idea as him, “Nice ribbon size pieces I hope.” his following message said.  
And she replied, “Happy now?” tying the makeshift ribbon around her scroll.

In response to that, she expected to receive some more teasing. But he didn’t and she was grateful, since the following two competitions were the hardest to watch for her. Horse racing. Short distance races one day and a long distance race the day after. _It was awful._ Arya felt absolutely miserable, digging her nails into her palms to cope with the boiling anger inside of her. _She could have won. No, she would have won!_ Both, short distance and long distance. _None of the men matched her horsemanship!_ But instead she and her stallion were chained and caged, he in the stables and she on a goddamn terrace, forced to watch others steal their victories. Worse even, her friends stealing them. Ned won at short distance and Trystane at long distance. And Arya went green with envy upon seeing them receive the trophies, she felt were rightfully hers. _She had raced and beaten both Dornishmen!_ Thankfully, later at the banquet, Ned at least acknowledged that, assuring she could have beaten him. _Would have!_ But it was only a small consolation, and if her mother hadn’t noticed her ill humour, reminding her of what was at stake, she undoubtedly would have tried to steal Needle back that night.

But Lady Catelyn probably expected that now, so Arya decided against it and tried to calm down by reminding herself, she was already halfway through with the damn tourney. _Just one more sennight and I’ll have it back,_ she assured herself.  
Though, Gendry found a better way to appease her. “Losing to him was a shame. Losing to you would have been an honour.” Arya read at dawn, but it was the message the day after which astonished her, “Would have loved to see you outrun us all.” Or rather the additional message she found then. A small box. A jewellery box, precisely. With another note inside, “A tribute to the supposed-to-be champion. P.S. I would have made you a sword, if you not already had one.”  
And underneath was a slim dark grey ribbon with a small slightly tarnished silver pendant on it. In shape of a wolf’s head. Arya was so stunned, she almost missed change of guard.  
So, she quickly wrote down the first thing that came to her baffled mind, “I have no armour.”  
Before she picked up the box and scrolls and snuck swiftly back to her chamber. Where she leaned against the closed door – her heart aflutter – staring at the wolf in her hand. Huffing and tempted to hit her head against the wall, she rolled her eyes. At herself, for such a stupid response. At him, for giving her a stupid necklace. At her body, for such a stupid reaction to a tiny piece of metal. _Her. Him. The pendant. Everything. It was just stupid!_ Yet, somehow _she liked it._

Just as she liked watching the competition that day. The melee. The real one now. It was funny at times. Hilarious even. _Only because she hadn’t planned to compete in it,_ Arya told herself. But her eyes were drawn to _him_ from the start. As expected, _his armour was marvellous._ It was mainly black tinted steel, with fine golden lines shaping a crowned stag on breastplate and shield and subtle antler ornaments on shoulder plates and helmet, lacking in adornments otherwise. But most of all, it fit perfect. _Like a second skin._ Allowing him to move smoother than anyone else. _It was magnificent._ Well, it was for her, since the other ladies once again failed to see it as the masterpiece it was. Way too plain. How could he not have antlers on the helmet. And no crown. Entirely below his status. Unworthy of a prince, some even claimed.

“On the contrary!” slipped from her mouth before Arya knew, “That's the finest armour I’ve ever seen! Fancy decorations are redundant at best, and a death sentence at worst. It’s actually baffling to see only two dozen men down there seem to know that.” Arya snarled annoyed, “If this were real, half the competitors were dead because of lousy armour!”  
“Hear! hear! A moment ago, I'd thought I caught you furtively doting on our prince!" Margaery chuckled, "Yet, apparently it’s not the man but the armour you’re smitten with, sweet Arya!”  
And Sansa laughed, “Better not tell Ned that!”  
“Shut up!” Arya snapped, feeling blood rush into her ears, “I’m just saying it’s fine armour …”  
“On the contrary!” her sister parroted, “You championed it, as if its honour were at stake.”  
“Yet, I absolutely agree with your sister!” Margaery intervened, studying Arya, “A man like that evidently needs no adornment to look dashing, am I right, my lady?”  
“I never said that!” Arya hissed. Though, feeling her cheeks now flush as well, she quickly turned back to watch the men, glad the melee was finally about to start. _Watch out!_ His voice warned in her mind.

Still, shortly afterwards her eyes were fixed on him again. Chewing her lower lip, she watched him duel and beat each of his opponents. One by one they dropped into the dust, and eventually even Ned. Though, seeing Gendry offer his hand to help him up and then Ned shoving it furiously away, perplexed her. _What was that!? Ned was never mad! At anyone._ Arya even looked questioningly at Sansa, then.  
“Told you! He wants to prove himself to you.” her sister snorted.  
And Lady Margaery added, “That’s just men, little Arya! Tourneys make their blood run hot, no need to worry.”  
Arya understood bloody well, the viper had just mocked her again, thinking her completely naive and stupid. Yet, seeing Ned now storm off the tourney ground with his young squire at his heels, kind of confirmed what the Tyrell woman had said. And after all, Arya knew how hot-headed she could get when she lost a sparring match, she had wanted to win at all costs. _And this wasn't just sparring. Just practicing. This was a tourney, with half the Seven Kingdoms watching!_ Arya told herself, and her gaze was soon drawn back to the men still fighting. Well, _him._

He was like a storm broke loose, mowing down everyone in his way, quick and skilful. And it didn’t stop until eventually the black mystery knight stepped in his way. _Storm meeting storm._ Arya quietly chuckled at that, watching the two brothers dance around each other. Same height, same broad back, same fighting style. _It was fascinating. And hilarious._ And naturally, she couldn’t refrain from side-glancing into the royal loge.  
Where the apparently clueless king roared in excitement, whooping, “Beat him, son! Do me proud!” causing Arya to giggle. It was almost a pity when the blue mystery knight finally had bested Jaime Lannister and joined their duel, defeating the black mystery knight soon after and duelling the crown prince then alone.

However, while they did, a squire handed the black mystery knight his horse. And he rode boldly to the royal loge, bowing to the king, who naturally asked him to remove his helmet. But the knight refused and bowed a second time, before he rode off. Or so Arya had thought. Instead he stopped right in front of their terrace, bowing to her as well, “Lady Arya, it’s been a pleasure.” before he actually rode from the arena, causing her to chuckle once more.  
Whereas Sansa gasped and stared at her, “You know him!?”  
“Well, he’s a mystery knight, who could know for sure …” Arya teased, still chuckling.

“Oh my gods, Arya!” Sansa’s eyes went wide as a light dawned on her, “The necklace! Please, tell me it’s not his!?” Though, at least it was the wrong light.  
Still, Arya blurted startled, “What!? No!” and instinctively grasped the pendant. _Stupid!_  
“Your behaviour says otherwise!” her sister hissed, narrowing her eyes, “Till yesterday you were all glaring anger and now look at you! Furtively smiling and absently playing with the pendant all day … ever since the black knight showed up. Even blushing now!”  
“It’s not his!” Arya snapped, “I swear!” glaring at her sister and trying to get her flushed face under control.  
“Whose is it, then!?” Margery now watched her like a hawk. _Fuck._  
“Mine!” Arya snarled.  
“Yes, obviously, but whose gift was it?” the Tyrell woman chuckled, though, her eyes pierced right through Arya.  
“WHO gave it to you!?” Sansa demanded furiously.  
“That’s none of your damn business!” Arya spat, fuming herself.  
“What about Ned!?” Sansa spat back.  
“What about him!?” Arya snarled.  
“You gave him your favour?! You can’t just accept gifts from other men, you’re insulting him!” Sansa hissed.

“Rubbish!” Arya snapped, finally getting an idea. “It’s Jon’s!” she lied, trying to sound nonchalant.  
“No, _that’s_ rubbish!” Sansa glared at her accusingly, “How could he send you gifts from the Wall!?”  
“Before he left, silly!” Arya snorted, slowly calming down, knowing _they could never prove otherwise._ And their father would never dare to take another of Jon’s gifts.  
But Sansa just wouldn’t give up and challenged, “Then how come you never wore it before!?”  
“Well, because I just opened the box today!” Arya hissed, remembering a lesson of her dancing master. _Add some truth to a lie and it’ll be all the more convincing._  
“What box!?” Sansa blinked confused.  
“The box it was in, stupid! Wasn’t supposed to open it before my nameday. Unless I needed him. And I did! After yesterday.” _That she’d buy. Had to!_  
“And why’d you need your brother _after yesterday?_ ” Lady Margaery inquired unconvinced, still studying Arya closely.  
“Because I was supposed to compete in the races! _I was supposed to win them!_ ” Arya snarled, glaring at the viper.

“Oh, not this again. You’re a woman, women _can’t_ compete in tourneys!” Sansa rolled her eyes. _If only you knew!_ Unfortunately, her sister regained her wits, “And this still doesn’t explain your blushing over the black knight. WHO is he!?”  
“I guess you’ll never know …” Arya smirked smugly, now that the attention was drawn away from the necklace.  
“Want me to tell Mother!?” Sansa threatened  
And Arya declared, “Won’t tell her either!” challenging her sister, “Though, I’ve no problem telling Father.” _After the tourney. And only if he insists._ “And I bet he’s perfectly fine with that man being kind to me. Since that’s all it was!”  
“And what about Ned—” Sansa hissed.  
“How do you think I know about the knight!?” Arya claimed, “Maybe your precious prince can help you out on that one!? Though, I doubt it! He seems a bit thick in the head.”  
“ You can’t say such things!” Sansa reprimanded again.  
“Sure, I can. I just did.”

Yet, right when Arya finally could focus on the fight again, it was over. Over all their bickering they hadn’t noticed the crown prince had somehow managed to defeat the blue knight. _Damnit._  
“That’s my son! My son!” the king’s booming voice called and everyone stood up and cheered.  
“Great, now I’ve missed the fight, because of you sillies!” Arya huffed angrily.  
Though, of course, Sansa didn’t respond anymore, pretending she had seen it all, applauding and praising the crown prince’s fighting talent. As they watched him remove his helmet and walk to the royal loge, still panting from the fight, he bowed to king and queen. His father naturally burst with pride over his heir following in his footsteps, winning melee after melee. But also the queen looked pleased and displayed a small yet genuine smile for her firstborn. And when he turned to their terrace, smiling himself and hinting a bow into their direction, for a flash their eyes locked. Causing Arya’s heart to skip a beat and forcing her to bite her lip again, to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching upwards. But the viper probably hadn’t noticed.  
Since Sansa in between them went crazy over this small gesture, “Oh my gods, oh my gods! Margaery, he meant _us!_ ”  
“Told you, something’s different about him lately!” Margery smirked knowingly, causing Arya to frown, _what the fuck was she up to!?_

For some reason, her instinct told her to keep an eye on the Tyrell woman afterwards. _After all, he was her friend._ Yet, she seemed to be only one concerned. At first, Sansa shrugged her misgiving off as nonsense, proclaiming, Margaery were up to nothing with the prince and thus she shouldn’t bother herself with thinking about them.  
And later at the feast, Ned reacted quite the same, assuring, “Gendry’s a grown man! He can handle Margaery.”  
But it didn’t soothe her nerves. At all. Rather the opposite. When she watched _him and that snake_ dance, smiling at each other and laughing together, she found herself digging her nails into her palms at the scene, fuming. _Why was he smiling at her like a fool? She was up to no good! Couldn’t he see that!?_ Fortunately, Sansa’s jealousy got the better of her, and her sister smartly lured the crown prince into the gardens after her dance with him. However, upon seeing Ser Lancel accompanying the viper from the hall right after, Arya followed her sister’s example and feigned she needed fresh air, too.

Though, they weren’t long in the gardens when Ned caught her deep in thoughts, chewing her lower lip and playing with the wolf pendant.  
”That’s a rather exquisite necklace you’re wearing today.” he told her.  
“It is …” Arya absently replied, watching her sister and Margaery duel each other for the crown prince’s attention.  
“I’m kind of surprised, Arya, I never thought you someone to care for jewellery.” Ned went on.  
Causing her to face him, she frowned and narrowed her eyes, “I don’t!”  
“Yet, you seem to care for this one …” he said, nodding at the pendant, studying her.    
“And!?” she almost growled and her frown deepened. _What was everyone’s damn problem with it?_ Her Lady Mother had inquired about the necklace just before the feast as well.  
“Um, it makes me wonder …” Ned seemed abashed, yet watched her closely, “May I ask who gave it to you?”  
“My brother.” Arya quickly blurted, persuading herself, it were best to tell him the same story as Sansa and their mother. “Jon.” she added, still seeing doubt in Ned’s eyes, “It was meant for my nameday. But, you know, I couldn’t wait any longer …” she tried not to blush with shame. _What was wrong with her!? Why was she lying to him? He was her best friend!_

Nonetheless, Ned chuckled at that, “Don’t worry! Your secret’s safe with me. Well, as long as you’re not expecting to get all your presents early now.” he teased. Before he got serious again, dumbfounding her, “Since, I’d hoped to invite you and your family to visit Starfall after your nameday. Where my gift’s waiting for you.” _Huh!?_ When she only stared at him in surprise, he quickly added, “But I can have it sent here, if you don’t like the idea!”  
“You’re inviting me to Dorne!?” she asked stunned.    
“Yes, I am.” he affirmed, “So, what do you think, would you like to see Starfall?”  
“Um, I don’t know … I suppose.” she stammered, still staring at him. “Can we go riding sand steeds?” she asked after a while.  
“We can do whatever you like!” he chuckled, “We can go riding, climbing, sailing or spar all day long. I’m the lord there and I say it’s all your decision.”  
“I’m in!” she grinned happily, “And I so can’t wait to see my mother’s dumb face when we do all that!”  
“So, we have a deal?” he laughed.  
“We so have!” she proclaimed excited now, “Will we take a ship or the road?”  
“Um, I’d say we go there by ship and return on horseback. We could invite your brothers as well—”  
“Oh, yes! Please, do that!” she took both his hands, now beaming with joy, “Of course there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, but Bran could surely come! And maybe Rickon? That would be perfect, actually! No one keeps Mother out of my hair like him …”  
“Then I’ll arrange everything with your Lord Father!” Ned smiled and squeezed her hands with his.

“Are congratulations in order, already?” Margaery inquired complacently, suddenly standing right next to them. Making them both pull their hands back, startled.  
_“Huh?”_ Arya blurted confused, before Sansa’s overjoyed expression made her realise what they assumed, “No! No.” Arya rolled her eyes, “No, Ned just invited me, um, us … the whole family to Starfall. After my nameday.”  
And while Margaery’s smug smirk faded into an entirely false smile, Prince Gendry’s face did exactly the opposite, his artificial smile relaxed unmistakably. Only Sansa’s expression hadn’t changed much, she still seemed absolutely delighted.  
“I’d be honoured to host you in my home, Sansa.” Ned proclaimed.  
But of course, Margaery had to ruin it, “What a wonderful idea!” she chirped, her voice far too shrill, “Though, we shall miss you dearly, Sansa! Won’t we, my prince?” wiping Sansa’s smile from her face.

“Nonsense!” the crown prince retorted, shocking the older Stark girl for an instant, before he turned to Ned, smirking mischievously, “I’ve a better idea! Lord Dayne’s invited me and my siblings countless times, and yet our visit at Starfall is still pending. So, old friend, what do you say? Could we and Lady Margaery join you and the Starks?”  
Sansa’s face brightened with every of his words, whereas Margaery’s smug expression faded into yet another false smile.  
However, Ned looked even unhappier. He clenched his fist and almost glared at his friend. He exchanged a look with Arya and then turned back to the prince, “How could I forget, your grace!?” and then smiled at Margaery, “Of course, I’ll extend the invitation to you as well, Lady Margaery.”  
“Oh, how delightful! What an adventure this’s will be… for all of us!” The Tyrell woman replied, her voice even shriller than before.  
Apparently were Sansa and her stupid prince the only ones actually happy with this arrangement. _Fools. Both of them._

“Ned, I’m so sorry! I should’ve kept my mouth shut.” Arya offered abashed, as soon as the three idiots had walked away, planning _their_ Dornish adventure.  
“Wasn’t your fault.” Ned sighed sullenly.  
“We could always outrun them, you know, with the sand steeds! And have our own adventures …” Arya tried to cheer him up.  
“That we will, my lady.” he assured, yet, was unable to hide the bitterness in his tone. _That bloody viper had to ruin everything … for a stupid prince!_

So, Arya decided to ruin what she could for the viper in return. At dawn, she picked up Gendry’s next message, saying, “Are you commissioning armour from me? P.S. You were wearing it. Had not expected that.”  
And she answered, “I am. But no fancy mirrors. And why would I not, it is my sigil.” and added a post scriptum of her own, “Viper says you are different somehow. Snake is up to something. And you idiot invited her to come.” hoping he would be more careful around Margaery now.

And mere hours later, the jousting competition started and as expected, Arya found it hard to watch, seeing once more she could have stood a chance. With a bit of luck – if she hadn’t drawn jousting veterans like Ser Jaime or Ser Barristan or someone as huge as Gregor Clegane and his slightly less impressive brother – she surely would have made it through the first contest day. Just like Tommen did, who provided her only delight that day, when he unhorsed his cousin Lancel within one single tilt. It had been his very first tourney joust. _Just like it could have been hers._ And thus by the end of the day, he was the only contestant Arya didn’t envy for his victory.

Fortunately, the second jousting day was easier to watch. Due to Gendry’s latest message, mostly. Which had said, “In that case, come see me after the tourney. P.S. Are you worried about me? I feel flattered.”  
Of course, his post scriptum made her roll her eyes and reply, “No, just a friendly warning, stupid.”  
But the first part made her wonder. _Did he mean it? Would he really make her armour? Or was he jesting? But he said he would’ve made her a sword. Unless that was a jest as well. But he knew, she wanted to compete. And sounded sorry, she couldn’t. Or was he jesting then, too? But Renly and Edric could’ve told him she was good … and he was bold enough to ignore her mother's wishes. They could hide her armour in the vaults! And if it were plain, like his practice armour, she could even spar in the mornings with the men. No one would ever know …_ So, by the time they arrived at the arena, Arya was certain, _he meant it!_ And was getting her hopes up. _Just a few more days and she would’ve Needle back. And soon even armour of her own!_ Real armour. No longer a bizarre collection of pieces her brothers had outgrown. _Better armour than all her brothers. Better even than her father!_ Arya told herself while watching the second contest day’s first duels.

Once more, Tommen amazed the audience, this time by outscoring that disgusting Ser Meryn within three tilts – proving his victory over Ser Lancel hadn’t been sheer luck. Apparently, took the youngest prince not only in looks after his uncle Jaime. _Unlike his nasty brother._ Who was unhorsed by the black knight during their second tilt. Arya snorted with laughter upon seeing the little shit spit with rage, clearly oblivious who had bested him. Causing her to pray to the old gods and the new, to allow her to be present, if he ever were to find out. Though, of course that made Sansa watch her closely again, still suspecting something were going on between her little sister and the mystery knight. _Bloody fool._

However, upon seeing the crown prince face off the Mountain – the largest man she had ever seen – Arya was somehow glad to have her sister there, who instantly reached for her hand to hold.  
“Please, tell me, he can do it!” Sansa whispered fearful, “I don’t want him to get hurt.”  
“He’s a good rider! Jousting is mostly horsemanship.” Arya assured her sister and her own suddenly racing heart, “And his armour will keep him safe. You needn’t worry!”  
But the Stark sisters weren’t the only ones who seemed concerned. The king had for once put his wine aside and stood directly at the railing of his loge, trying to hide his tenseness. Unlike his wife. Who looked, as if she would pull her son from his horse now any moment. Even the ever overconfident Lady Margaery held her breath, when the two men started charging at each other. Whereas Sansa squinted her eyes shut each time the lances collided upon the respective other, until the crowds’ cheering signalled her the prince was fine.

And eventually, after five tilts he managed to outscore Ser Gregor, causing a wave of relieved sighs go through the crowds. And another, upon seeing the Mountain ride furiously off the arena, ignoring all proprieties. Arya had heard of his meltdown after the last tourney, when Ser Loras had defeated him – riding a mare in heat, gossip claimed. Though, she thought it a lame excuse. _Her stallion could scent mares in heat all he wanted, she would still make him do her bidding first!_ Nevertheless, she now understood why the queen forbid that abomination of a man to compete in melees, when her sons participated. Therefore, Arya was all the more impressed how Prince Gendry hadn’t even flinched at facing that monstrosity.

Though, naturally _he got it all wrong._ And flattered himself in his next message, “You were worried about me, at first. Since afterwards, you were totally swooning. I saw it.”  
“Know, what I saw? A blacksmith gone cuckoo.” she replied, shaking her head over his incurable teasing attitude.  
But then flushed in shock over his following response, “Yet, you like him. Maybe even more than that ...” _No, absolutely not! Never._  
“You wish!” she retorted indignantly. _Stupid bull-headed prince._

Nonetheless, her heart flipped as soon as he came into view on the third jousting day. And even more so, when she saw him defeating his last opponent, entering the last eight round. Still, she blamed her inner flurry on the fact that he managed to amaze her with his skills in fighting and riding. _He wasn’t the fastest rider, true. Well, not as fast as her, but he was good. Really good. Good enough to win,_ she realised.

Whereas the blue mystery knight then suddenly got unhorsed by Ned during their fourth tilt. And so the Lord of Starfall entered the quarter final as well. Which of course made Sansa and the viper torment her even more, using his latest victory as proof for _Lord Dayne’s numerous advantages._ Young. Handsome. Dashing. Honourable. Kind. Talented. Brave. Smart. Heroic. And many things more, stating there were no better match for Arya than him. _How about no match, at all!?_ Although, she fully agreed with all these descriptions, she couldn’t on their last suggestion. _They were just friends! Good friends. The best even. And if she had been a man, no one would even think all that nonsense about marriage! They would just be left in peace._

But Sansa and Margaery just wouldn’t listen and claimed to know, Ned were madly in love with her.  
“If he wins, he’s so gonna ask Father for your hand!” Sansa predicted, smirking, “Actually, I bet, he’s gonna do that no matter what! And he’s proven himself more than worthy by now, dear sister, no other man would’ve had such patience with you! So, if you ask me, Father just has to—”  
“Well, that’s just the point, no one’s asking you, stupid!” Arya fumed, and anew proclaimed they only were friends. But they just laughed at her.  
“You gave him your favour, silly! What did you expect!?” Sansa teased.  
“ _Not that!_ He knows, Mother forced me to do it!” Arya stated stubbornly.  
Causing Sansa to cover her eyes with her palm over her sister’s supposed stupidity.

Although, that hadn’t been the worst. Lady Stark was even more thrilled to see Ned compete as one of the last eight, “Your ribbon is a true lucky charm!” she chirped.  
And completely ignored how Arya’s sullen face silently screamed, “I wish I could take it back!” _All it caused, was trouble._  
“I mean, I still pray the prince would crown your sister …” Lady Catelyn babbled on, talking rather to herself than to Arya, “But this, Lord Dayne doing so well, maybe coming off the victor himself, I absolutely didn’t expect that. What a perfect match the two of you are!” while she weaved lilac pearls into Arya’s hair for the feast that night, as if it were her betrothal celebration already. “Tonight you have to assure him, Arya, don’t let him doubt himself!” her Lady Mother told her … _ordered her._

And even Arya understood by now, if Ned should win he would crown her. _Had to. Thanks to that bloody ribbon!_ There was no other option. Not without insulting her and whole House Stark. _And Ned would never do that._ No matter, if Arya wanted to be Queen of Love and Beauty or not. _Maybe she could endure it? It’s just stupid flowers. But not for her mother!_ Lady Catelyn would only apply more pressure on Ned afterwards, forcing him and Arya into a betrothal. _Clever scheme indeed, Catelyn Tully!_ Arya silently raged, but her mother deliberately ignored her glares. She probably was still hoping for Arya to lose it, so she could take Needle away for good. _No! She’ll be waiting till the cows come home._ Arya thought, calming herself. _Just one more day! You can manage. You have to! For Needle._

Nonetheless, was Arya unwilling to go down without a fight and came up with a little escape plan for her and Ned. And fortunately, Ned provided the perfect opportunity to let him in on it. To Catelyn Tully’s great dismay, he announced he would want to retire to his chambers right after the banquet, to get some rest before the morrow. Causing Lady Catelyn to glare at Arya, obviously suspecting she would have done or said something to drive Ned away. _I’m smarter than that, Mother!_ Hence Arya grinningly chirped, she then should retire early herself, to not give any wrong impressions to the other bachelors at the feast. Playing the obedient little wife, Lady Catelyn tried to mould her in to. And Ned swiftly came to her aid and offered to escort her to the Tower of the Hand.  
Leaving her mother no other choice but to allow it, “And excellent idea!” _It was! Just not in the way Catelyn Tully thought._  
Since on their way through the keep, Arya let Ned in on her plan, urging him to play along. Otherwise he would find himself betrothed to her quicker than he could blink, she warned and he silently listened, before he bid her goodnight with a kiss on the back of her hand.

Certain, to finally have put a spoke into Catelyn Tully’s wheel, Arya happily bid their two household guards outside the Tower, Alyn and Wyl, goodnight. But when she passed her father’s solar, something made her halt. _It was past nightfall._ And she was all alone in the upper storeys. _Maybe…_ So, she swiftly lifted the wall-hanging and carefully opened the door, slipping through. Only to find two strong arms flinging around her, one hand covering her mouth and the other holding her in place at her waist. Thus, she instinctively pushed herself with her feet off the wall, making her attacker stumble backwards together with her.  
“Shush! It’s just me.” he whispered and let go off her.  
“What the fuck, Gendry!?” she turned to face him, “What the hells are you doing here!?”  
“Lurking in the shadows, scaring passers-by?” he teased grinningly and when she shoved him, he chuckled, “Too soon!?”  
“You were still at the feast, just a moment ago!” she hissed, while he lit the candle.  
“Thought it best to follow Ned’s good example. Needing rest and all …” he claimed smugly.  
“You call this resting!?” she snarled.  
Making him raise his brow, “Hey! I was just delivering this.” he pulled out a scroll from his doublet, “How should I've known you’d come here now, too? It’s my time, not yours! So, the question should rather be, what’re _you_ doing here!?”

“Um…,” she stammered, “well, I thought, …”  
“You couldn’t wait to read this, huh!?” he handed her the small parchment, biting his lower lip to hide his growing smile.  
“Nooo…” she growled embarrassed, “I just thought with everyone else at the feast, I maybe wouldn’t need to come in the morning.”  
“Of course.” he chuckled, “And since we’re both here now, why don’t we speed up our conversation a bit.” he grinned mischievously, “Go on, read it!”  
And now it was Arya’s turn to bite her lip, to hide her rapidly increasing insecurity. She knew how she reacted to some of his messages – and her gut instinct told her _this was one of those notes._ So, she quickly turned around, yet, forgot he held the candle. Causing him to chuckle and step behind her, to hold the light over her shoulder. And although, he wasn’t touching her, his breath against her neck caused waves of warmth spreading through her body. And he most certainly saw the bright red blush creeping up her neck, as she unrolled the parchment. Only to read, “You wish!” in her own handwriting.  
Rolling her eyes, she turned around, “That’s my message, you idiot!” handing the scroll back to him.  
“Oh, um, sorry.” he murmured, somewhat abashed and pulled out another scroll. Which she quickly snatched from his hand, turning around again. Making him repeat his previous action – chuckling and holding the light for her to read.

And she had been right, _it was one of those messages._ “I actually do.” she read and froze, yet felt her heart and mind racing at dizzying speed. _Was he japing? He had to be! Why would he want her to like him? Like him like Sansa did!? Like all those silly geese did … wait!?_  
“What do you think?” he whispered into her ear.  
Startling her and setting her entire skin on fire. Her neck and ear, where his breath touched her, felt literally as if she had been burned there. _What was she supposed to say!? Gods, she knew it was one of those notes! Why hadn’t she just grabbed it and ran?_  
“Um.” she had to swallow, twice. “That you’re lying?” she suggested quietly.  
_“What!?”_ he sounded perplexed, “Why would you think that?”  
Yet, his reaction angered her, she spun around and glared at him, “Because you are! For the whole past moon’s turn you talked about nothing else but wanting me to swoon all over you, just like the rest of them fools here! As if it were some _game_ to you—”

“It’s not!” he blurted, dumbfounded. _Was he blushing?_ “I’m not lying, Arya! I lied to you once, in the vaults when we met. But never since. I swear! And _this_ , you and me, it’s not a game … not to me, at least. _Far from it, Arya!_ ” he stammered, abashed.  
“Then why all that nonsense about besting Ned and making sure, I wouldn’t root for him!?” she demanded enraged.  
But he couldn’t hold her gaze anymore. She saw he attempted to say something. Several times. But ultimately decided against it. Again and again.  
Until he finally blurted, “I want you to have a choice!” glaring back at her now, “If he wins, he’ll ask for your hand and your father will accept!”  
“No, stupid! That’s just what Mother thinks. Ned’s dropping out if he makes it to the final round. First tilt!”

“And you call me stupid and a liar?!” Gendry snarled at that.  
“What’s that supposed to mean!?” she hissed outraged.  
“That’re you the one who’s stupid, if you believe that horseshit about dropping out!”  
“It’s no horseshit! It was my idea. And Ned agreed, just a moment ago!”  
_“Did you make him swear!?”_ Gendry demanded furiously, causing her to drop her gaze and bite her lip. _She hadn’t thought of that._  
“You didn’t!” he hissed and shook his head over her supposed foolishness, “He’s not dropping out, Arya! He wants this betrothal just as bad as your mother.  
“You’re lying!” she snapped.  
“No, I’m not! Not about Ned. And not about … _my message._ ” he locked eyes with her and studied her. “I’ll prove it! Tomorrow.” he said quietly, cupping her left cheek and tracing the outline of her lower lip with his thumb a moment later. Before he eventually gulped and somehow nervously blinked. “Goodnight, Arya.” he whispered and climbed down the ladder, leaving her entirely dumbstruck behind on the platform. As her left hand absently reached to the tingling skin, he had just touched. _What was that!?_

Eventually regaining her composure, she snuck to her chamber, where she swiftly undressed to slip under her blanket. In case her father and mother would return from the feast just then and would feel the need to check on her. But they hadn’t come back. Not for another two hours, which Arya spent wide awake with her mind racing – revolving around him, once more. _What did just happen? What was he up to? Why would he want her to like him, like that? Why would he want her to become just like these other silly geese? Why would he sabotage her friendship with Ned? Why was he so angry at him? Why would he want her to doubt her friend … their friend? And most of all, what was that with his thumb?_ Though, her parents and Sansa eventually returned, slipping under their own bed covers and falling exhaustedly asleep, she did not. She spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, brooding over _that stupid bull-headed prince_ once more. And even snuck from her bed at dawn, _like the silly goose she had indeed become!_ actually hoping to find another scroll of him. Which of course she did not. _Stupid!_

Thus, when her mother finally came to wake her and to give her exact instructions for the day, Arya was almost glad. And somehow Lady Stark didn’t even notice the dark circles under her daughter’s eyes. Or maybe she just ignored them, thinking herself almost at the finish now. _You’re so gonna miss the mark, Catelyn Tully!_ Arya thought confidently. Especially since now not only she, but also that stupid crown prince seemed intent to spoil things for her. And although, Arya still failed to understand what his motivation in all this was, she decided to no longer brood on it. _Needle was the only thing that counted now!_ Hence she was determined to now solely focus onto getting her sword back. _Just a few more hours._

Though, of course, all these idiots surrounding her in the south, had no intentions to make it easy for her. First, her Lady Mother tried her very best to annoy her until a row starts. She even threatened to make her watch Needle being melted-down, if she should dare to refuse Ned’s garland or his marriage proposal. And naturally at the arena, it were Sansa and Lady Margaery who tried their best to drive her nuts. Starting by suspecting Ned would have tried to steal a kiss last night.  
“Aren’t the Red Keep’s lonely hallways perfect for stolen kisses, Arya?” the viper teased, before she and Sansa sniggered like twelve year olds.  
“So, the two of you speak from experience?” Arya snorted angrily, running low on patience. _Thanks to that sleep-stealing bull-headed prince!_  
“Arya!” her sister quickly reprimanded, blushing prettily like the innocent maiden she was, “Prince Gendry would never do that!” she claimed.  
“Kitchen staff says otherwise!” Arya scoffed and turned to face the viper, “What was her name again? Aly? Alyce?” _Watch out, Arya!_ his voice reprimanded in her mind.  
“That’s not true! Just nasty gossip.” Sansa objected.  
“If you say so…” Arya snorted, and tried to ignore them for the rest of the day. To fix her eyes on the tourney ground, where the jousting was about to start. _Needle. Just think of Needle,_ she tried to calm herself.

And it worked for a while. But most of her memories of Needle were somehow connected to Jon and thus she soon reminisced about her favourite sibling. Him ruffling her hair. Him laughing at Robb, when she had bested him for the first time. Him carrying her to bed after a feast, when she had been too tired to walk on her own. Him quickly covering her ears and blocking her sight, when they had walked in on Theon and one of the servant girls. And of course his dumb face, when she had bested him for the first time. _If she’d ever get to see him again?_ No, she didn’t want to think about that now.

 _So, Sansa and Margaery it was again._ Who were just getting their hopes up, seeing the crown prince best Trystane.  
“Oh, my gods, Margaery, he’s in the semi-final! Just two more rounds to win for him, and—”  
Arya rolled her eyes and instantly went back to focussing on Needle. Though, carefully avoided thinking of Jon now. Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine a sparring session with Brienne.  
But of course, Sansa soon noticed her moving wrists in her lap, “What’re you doing now!?” her sister chided, sounding quite like their mother.  
“Sparring.” Arya retorted absently.  
“Stop it, people are staring at you!”  
Huffing, Arya opened her eyes and turned to her sister, “What people?”  
“Littlefinger.”  
“ _Creep._ ” Arya snorted and turned to glare at the man, sitting in the royal loge behind their Lady Mother. But he only smiled at her. _Falsely._

Unfortunately, then Ned defeated Ser Barristan and Sansa and Margaery started a new round of teasing.  
“You should keep your eyes now open, little wolf!” The Tyrell woman smirked, “You might find yourself with a garland in your lap before long …"  
“No need to worry, my lady! Ned won’t win!” Arya returned the smug smirk. Yet, slowly got an uneasy feeling in her gut. And justifiably, she realised when Ned managed to defeat Jaime Lannister, outscoring him after four tilts. _Seven hells! What was wrong with the old knight? Why didn’t he put up more of a fight? Why still compete, if didn’t mean to win? Bloody Lannister!_

Of course, Sansa went entirely mental at that, “Oh, my gods, Arya! Ned’s in the final round. Oh, my gods! He’s so going to crown you!”  
“No, he won’t.” Arya snarled. _Not if he cared for his life!_  
And all of a sudden she found herself truly rooting for Gendry. _Who would’ve seen that coming?_ she snorted to herself, furtively crossing her fingers when the crown prince duelled Loras. And a welcome wave of relief flooded her, when he actually managed to outscore The Knight of Flowers after seven tilts.

However, the pause in fighting, _a whole damn hour,_ brought Arya fully on edge. _She’d get back at them! All of them. Mother. Sansa. Margaery. Ned. And of course that stupid prince. First thing in the morning. They won’t know what hit them, when she was done with them!_ Arya vowed to herself, pacing back and forth in the meadows behind their stands. _Like the caged animal she was._  
And that bloody Littlefinger of course thought this the perfect moment to poke his nose in, “Lady Arya, if I wouldn’t know any better, I’d think you're afraid of losing a garland of winter roses to your sister.”  
“What!? No. Rubbish!”  
“So, who are you rooting for? Your handsome Dornish suitor, who’s wearing your favour? Or is it our dashing prince, who’s more to your liking?” he continued poking her. _Wrong question, absolutely wrong question. And absolutely wrong time to poke a raging wolf, arsehole!_   
“Myself!” she snarled, scowling at the _despicable creep,_ ready to strike him down with his own dagger, “I could best them both! If men like you wouldn’t feel so threatened by little girls like me!”

Though, when he attempted to counter, just opening his mouth, applause came from behind him, “Well-spoken as usual, She-wolf.” Renly placed a heavy hand on Littlefinger’s shoulder and squeezed. _Threatened._  
And the little weasel understood, quickly backing off.  
“I hope, I wasn’t interrupting! But from over there it looked as if you were about to murder my brother’s Master of Coin.” the stormlord grinned.  
“Oh, I totally was.” Arya chuckled, feeling clearly relieved Baelish was gone. _That man was like a festering wound. Disgusting, yet, absolute deadly._  
“So, you’re still mad our little scheme was exposed?” Renly teased and she only nodded and sighed. “Don’t worry, little wolf, next time we’ll be smarter!” he winked at her, “But for now, we’ll have to watch these two clumsy fools fight over silly garlands.”

Fortunately, neither her Lord Father nor her Lady Mother had left the royal loge. So, Arya spent the rest of the break with Renly, whose excellent sense of humour quickly raised a few laughs from her, distracting her for a while from the invisible chain she felt around her neck, _tightening like a hangman’s noose._

So, by the time she returned to her seat with Sansa and Lady Margaery, Arya actually had dared to hope again. _Ned hadn’t vowed to drop out, true. But he hadn’t said he wouldn’t do it, either._ She had tried to calm herself. In vain. The crown prince and Ned charged at one another, their lances colliding on their shields, but _handsome Lord Dayne_ remained in his saddle.   
" _Bloody Dornishman!_ " Arya huffed, clenching her fists, as she watched both men return to their positions, Gendry slightly shaking his head.

During their second tilt, the crown prince even missed to hit. So, of course Ned hadn’t dropped out then, either. _Couldn’t. Even if he’d wanted to._ But Arya started doubting that, digging her nails into her palms and clenching her jaw. Throughout their third and fourth tilt, they both scored, hitting their respective breastplates. Still, Ned Dayne remained on horseback. _Seven hells!_ Arya was fuming. In their fifth tilt the crown prince managed to draw level. _Seriously!? Did they think this somehow funny?_

After their sixth tilt, both missing, Arya got up and was about to leave.  
But Sansa caught her arm and squeezed, snarling, “Sit down! And stay put until I say otherwise.”  
Huffing and rolling her eyes, she obeyed. _For Needle._ And watched sullenly how Gendry finally managed to break the tie. Only to lose it again during their eighth tilt, when Ned managed to draw level. _What the fuck!? Were they even competing? Or just jousting for fun to mock her?_ After their ninth tilt, both missing again, Arya was sure, _they definitively were fooling her!_ Knowing, now only the king could save her by declaring a victor. Which hopefully would be his son. _Though, that would look nepotistic … oh gods, he would name Ned victor! She was doomed, she could just as well put herself into a coffin tonight …_

Though, she evidently was alone in feeling that way. The crowds around her had gone entirely mental in their cheering. Nobody had expected these two finalists and least of all, for young Ned Dayne to stand his ground against the taller and broader crown prince for so long, even equal in scores.

However, then it suddenly happened, during their tenth tilt. To Arya now entirely out of the blue. She hadn’t even been paying attention anymore, and had just absently stared into space.  
“Arya!” Sansa cried out.  
And ripped her from her straying thoughts, “What!?”  
Only to see Ned get back onto his feet, furiously throwing his helmet against the stands. Before he turned around, locking eyes with her. _Damnit!_ Just a moment ago, she had been absolutely mad at him, ready to murder him as soon as she could get hold of him. But the look on his face now – _utter despair_ – swept away her anger within a blink.

“Oh, my gods! Oh, my gods! Arya! It’s blue winter roses!” Sansa shook her excitedly, drawing her attention back to the crown prince, who just was about to pick up his garland.  
“Congratulations, Sansa.” Margaery offered, clearly shocked and barely able to keep a straight face.  
“Yes, congratulations, sister.” Arya said quietly, “Am I now allowed to leave?”  
“ _What!? Why?_ ” Sansa looked at her confused.  
“Ned. I want to talk to him.”  
“Oh.” Sansa glanced at the young Dornishman, who now watched Gendry with clenched fists, “Um, yes. Of course. Go, talk to him!”

But she didn’t get far, just a few steps up the terrace. “Lady Arya!” she heard _him_ calling, causing her to freeze in her step, “Don’t you want to be my Queen of Love and Beauty?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE NECKLACE
> 
> I know Arya's not the type for jewellery. But I didn't want to repeat what Gendry made for her in my other story "Going Home" (especially not since I like really that scene when he does there). Also, for this story I needed his gift to be something she could show in public (to increase the drama for Arya).
> 
> Gendry was mad that Ned got Arya’s favour, even though she told him, they were tricked into that by her mother. He knows, Ned tricked Arya as well. 
> 
> And even though she then decided to give Gendry a (makeshift) ribbon, too. He couldn’t be sure, it wasn’t just to stop him asking or a jest of her. Plus, he saw she was unhappy during the tourney, especially after the horse races, so he wanted to cheer her up. But not just that, he wanted to give her something that she wouldn’t need to hide (which she would’ve done with a weapon). 
> 
> He kind of wanted her to wear his favour, furtively yet publicly. That is also why the pendant is on a ribbon and not on a silver chain, and he chose a dark grey ribbon, because that is a Stark colour but also not so far from Baratheon black. 
> 
> And he tarnished the silver, in case the wrong people (mainly Margaery/Cat) would poke their noses in, then she could claim it were an old necklace, but also because he thought Arya would rather choose to wear it if it weren’t too shiny and fancy. 
> 
> And he fore sure hoped Ned would notice it and wonder if he had made it. To provoke Ned into making mistakes. 
> 
> And last, this was also a little test for Arya. He wanted to see, if she would do something untypical, something absolutely ladylike – wearing a necklace voluntarily – for him. After all, he wants to marry her and eventually make her his queen, which would mean for her to go a lot more off track personality-wise in the future.
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> JOUSTING RULES
> 
> I read bit about jousting. About jousting in Westeros and in the real Middle Age, since I wanted to portray it halfway realistic. and But GRRM doesn't say that much about it and in the real world there were many many versions to 'play' this sport. So, I decided to pick some bits and parts from what I found and made my own for this story:
> 
> How to win a joust?
> 
> a) By outscoring the opponent with a three-point-advantage   
> b) Or by unhorsing him (so he no longer stands)
> 
> How do the contestants score?
> 
> Hitting their opponent's shield = 1 point (the least risk to harm him)  
> Hitting their opponent's breastplate = 2 points (a bigger risk to harm him)  
> Hitting their opponent's head = 3 points (the biggest risk to harm him)
> 
> Honour & jousting:
> 
> Because of the high risk to actually harm the opponent, it isn't thought honourable if one aims for the head. So the contestants usually try to avoid that, to not tarnish their victory by rumours of having fought unfair/without honour. 
> 
> That is also why Gendry and Ned in their first tilt only aimed for their shields, because it is the least risk - no matter they fight about Arya, they still have great respect for one another.
> 
> Special rule:
> 
> A joust can take too many tilts. Though, what too many tilts are, is up to the king or the tourney host (if the king isn't present) to decide. And if he does, the king/tourney host can declare a joust finished and a victor of his choosing. 
> 
> But as in this chapter said, that might make said king/host unpopular, depending on who he picks as winner, then. So usually the king/host tries to avoid that.


	11. The Queen of Love and Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Prince Gendry finally decided to go public with his feelings for Arya, though, in the most public way there is in Westeros! It certainly was the right move to present Cersei and Margaery with a fait accompli. And definitively his last chance to beat Ned Dayne to the punch ... or to bring Catelyn's plans for Arya to an abrupt halt. But was it the right thing to do to win Arya?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!!! We come to the scene that sparked this whole story. Arya reacting to Prince Gendry choosing her as Queen of Love and Beauty. And once more I'm dreading your reactions, again fearing to disappoint you all. The more you love this story, the more afraid I get to ruin it for you at the end! 
> 
> Still, I was again utterly stunned to receive your many many kudos and to read all your wonderful comments under the previous chapter. I was a real treat. Thank you so much to all of you!

_Seven hells!_ She hadn’t seen _that_ coming. And from the ear-splitting silence that suddenly surrounded her, no one else had. All eyes were on her, she could feel it. Her heart was pounding so fast that her ears buzzed, and for the first time in her life she feared she might faint. _No! She was no damn fainting weakling lady. She was Arya Stark. The She-wolf of Winterfell. She didn’t faint. Least of all now, or else they’d get it all wrong!_  
“Lady Arya?” a much closer voice ripped her from her thoughts, _Renly_.  
Reminding her, she was expected to react to the question. _Damn! There was no way out of this_ , she realised, _at least no good one._

She had even started trembling. _Seven hells, Arya!_ she reprimanded herself, _You don’t tremble._ Desperate to regain her composure she clenched her fists, digging her nails into the palms. It helped, steadying her enough to slowly turn around, towards _him._ And the gaping crowd. Still, it felt like an eternity until she finally managed to look up. Her eyes found Sansa’s, who looked so incredibly hurt and yet, was silently pleading with her to not do something stupid. To not make things worse. _Forgive me, sister._ Arya swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat, before she finally dared to face _him._ He had his head slightly cocked and looked tense, anxious even, with traces of an almost faded smile on his face. He studied her and his eyes clearly tried to read her mind, while the steed underneath him was getting restive.

 _Stupid bull-headed prince! He wanted her to have a choice … what choice did this leave her!?_ She wanted to yell at him, hit him. Again and again. For forcing _this_ on her.  
Yet, her voice was barely a whisper and, “No.” the only word she managed to utter.  
But he had heard it, she could tell. His jaw dropped somewhat and he blinked clearly baffled, probably unsure if he had really heard her say it.  
“Arya!” Sansa’s thunderstruck outcry followed immediately.  
Making her add an apologetic, “your grace.” accompanied by a quick curtsy.  
She desperately wanted to flee the scene, but the murmur now going through the flabbergasted crowd seemed to pin her to the spot. Never in her life had she felt so exposed and vulnerable.

She literally was a caged animal now – ready to lash out. Any moment. At anyone. Risking anything, just to get away. _How? Doesn’t matter. Just run. Now!_  
But then a somehow hurt, “Why?” reached through to her. _Why what!?_  
Arya looked up confused, and found the crown prince staring at her, flustered. _Fuck. She was trapped. For good now._ Feeling her face turn into a glaring red, she couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. Or anyone else there. Her eyes searched frantically for something they could focus on, but only found the floor boards underneath her feet, while she tried to sort out the least insulting way to answer his stupid why. _What was there not to understand? He had asked her a question, and she had answered. As clear as possible._

“Um, because …” she reluctantly started, staring at the floor boards, “well … thing is … um, I don’t want to be … Queen of Love and Beauty.” _What fool came up with that ridiculous title, anyway?_  
Just speaking it out loud made her want to hit something. _Preferably anyone around her now. Starting with that stupid bull-headed prince._ She huffed angrily and decided – since she already was at it, and for once had literally everyone’s ear – she would make things clear for good now. Knowing, her mother and sister would be mad at her anyway. _So why not?_  
She looked up at the prince, trying to stand tall and proud, locking eyes with him, and announced calmly, yet as loud and clear as possible, “In fact, your grace, I don’t want to be any sort of queen … or lady!” making him silently nod in defeat. “The Wolf Hunt is over now, for everyone!” Arya added, and her glance instinctively searched the tourney ground behind him, where Ned had stood only moments before, but he was gone now.

However, she had no time to think on that. She had barely finished, when the waves of scandalised gasps spread around her.  
And her mother’s voice reached her ear, “Arya Stark!” Catelyn Tully snarled, “You will apologise to the crown prince and the royal family immediately!”  
As expected her Lady Mother was furious. _Good. Something familiar, something she could actually deal with._  
Arya felt her own anger boil up inside of her, _“For what!?”_ she spat, glaring at the prince now, her voice finally returning to its full strength.  
_He brought this on himself! He had decided to corner her – in front of everyone – knowing damn well who she was. You can’t corner a wolf and expect it not to bite!_  
“Arya St-” Lady Catelyn started to chide her defiant daughter again.

But she was fuming now. _She couldn’t stand it any longer._ And speedily shifted her glare from the dumbfounded prince to Lady Stark, who stood outraged at the railing of the royal loge.  
Losing it, Arya yelled, “What, Mother!? You made sure I couldn’t compete. You made me watch. Front row, noon to supper. Every single day, for the whole fortnight. And I did it. No back-talking. Behaving all proper. Wearing all the stupid dresses you put me in. Smiling at everyone you wanted me to. Even putting a damn ribbon on Ned’s arm! _You promised,_ if I’d do all that, I’d get my blades and armour back. _And I did. I kept my end of the bargain!_ Though, accepting _his_ bloody flowers …” she pointed at the crown prince, without averting her glare from her mother, “was never any part of it! So, no, mother, I won’t apologize! He asked and I declined. Politely, if you hadn’t noticed. And I don’t see any fault in that …” feeling angry tears well up, as soon as she was done with her tantrum.  
Knowing, she had lost Needle now for real. And her stallion, too. _All because of him! That deceiving, fucking liar! She didn’t belong here._ And she could no longer pretend.

Only, Catelyn Tully didn’t see that, having turned lividly and panicking to her entirely thunderstruck husband, “Ned, talk some sense into her!”  
But Lord Stark didn’t seem to hear his wife. Supporting himself on the wooden backrest of his seat, petrified with horror, he stared at their defiant daughter. As if seeing a ghost, all colour drained from his face – looking as if he would collapse any moment.  
“Ned!” Lady Catelyn shook him, trying to get his attention, “Do something!”

But Eddard Stark never got the chance to chide her, of a sudden the king’s roaring laughter resounded, startling father and daughter alike.  
“Damn, girl! You’ve guts.” Robert snorted, “Not just the pretty thing my son mistook you for!”  
“You think _this_ funny, father!?” Joffrey spat, “She insulted him! _Us!_ ”  
“She did no such thing!” the crown prince hissed.  
Causing Arya to glare at him again. _She didn’t need to be rescued. Least by him!_  
Though, before she could tell him, the king spoke again, chiding his younger son, “You shut your damn mouth! The girl just didn’t want the damn flowers. And unlike others, your brother can take a blow!” He then turned to Lady Stark, his voice instantly calmer and softer, “No harm was done here, Cat! Rest assured.” Before he addressed Arya again, more serious than she had ever seen the king, “You look like _her._ She loved flowers. But you’re different, you’re a fierce one. I see that now … Pity, she never had a chance to refuse the garland that goddamn day.”  
Arya didn’t know what to say and turned to look at her father, who had sunken back into his seat, gazing into space.

“Don’t worry, girl! You’re not in trouble.” the king assured.  
Though, the queen’s and Joffrey’s faces told a different story, both of them glared at Arya, no efforts to conceal their distaste. And Arya knew her mother was disagreeing as well. But it was the king’s word that counted, and for the first time Arya felt the need to show the man some respect.  
She quickly curtsied, uttering, “Thank you, your grace.”  
Yet, didn’t know what to do next. She still felt uncountable eyes on her and heard the people’s scandalised whispers.

“Go on, son, put that damn garland onto someone else’s lap, and let’s be done with it!” the king instructed. _Yes, please! Let’s be done with it …_  
Arya was dying to finally get to leave that goddamn arena. Anxiously stroking the red crescents in her palms, she waited for the crown prince to find himself another Queen of Love and Beauty. But nothing happened, for what felt like another eternity. _What took him so long? The arena was full of pretty girls. Especially the front rows._ But he didn’t move, and suddenly Arya understood his dilemma, anyone he would choose now would always be known as second choice. _Next best was no compliment!_ Maybe even an insult to certain women. Like Margaery Tyrell, who indeed seemed to duck away, busy comforting the still shocked Sansa. _Next best was not the true Queen of Love and Beauty. Seven bloody hells. That was still her!_ Even though, she had refused the garland. _That stupid bull-headed prince!_

Before she knew, she was again digging her nails into her palms, again glaring at him, while he stared at the crown of winter roses in his hands, his brows furrowed and his thumb trailing along one flower’s outline. _Sansa would never forgive her! Fuck. How could he drive this damn flowery wedge between two sisters!? Wasn’t Sansa hating her already enough? What was his damn problem!? Why did he have to insult Sansa like that? Hadn’t he once claimed, he wouldn’t want to disrespect her? What else was that, you arsehole!?_

Arya had been so consumed by her raging thoughts, she hadn’t even noticed the prince had found himself another Queen of Love and Beauty and was standing in the royal loge now – having avoided further scandal by placing the garland onto his sister’s lap.  
The king beamed with pride, roaring, “That’s my son! Brave and strong. Yet, smart enough to outwit us all. Well done!” he hugged his son overjoyed and even the queen seemed somewhat appeased with this outcome now. _No one would dare to call Myrcella second best._ “And now it’s time for the feast!” the king announced, “To celebrate the champion of this tourney, my son, your crown prince!”

Seeing the people cheer _him_ once more, Arya’s feet finally obeyed her will again. She turned and made for the stairs, hoping no one would notice.  
While the king shouted, “Eat, drink and dance as much as you like! And make this city’s whores walk bow-legged in the morrow—”  
She quickly descended from the terrace, and froze again. _Where should she go?_ The arena was surrounded by wide meadows, with squires and servants bustling about to get their masters hastily back to the keep. Not to mention the two Kingsguard knights at the stairs right to her. _Damnit! She couldn’t sneak away,_ not without them noticing whereto. _Not in this stupid dress!_ her mother had made her wear that day.  
“A Stark and Dayne colour.” Lady Catelyn had pointed out in the morning. _The Stark colour that suited her the least!_ she had then sullenly thought, and now she definitively knew why.  
“Arya, wait!” _he_ appeared atop the stairs of the royal loge. _Seven hells!_  
She instinctively glanced around and disappeared under the terraces.  
Hearing him call, “Arya, please, wait!” and from the clanking steel she heard, he was quickly following her. _Bloody bull-headed prince!_

Eventually catching up, he found her hiding in some dark corner.  
“Wearing white isn’t exactly doing the trick for lurking in the shadows, my lady.” he stated and then sighed.  
Probably realising, smart-alecky teasing wouldn’t appease her. Since she just glared at him, murder in her eyes. _He was lucky he was still wearing his armour!_ Or else she would have started hitting him the moment he had stepped around the corner.  
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you! Or putting pressure on you …” he claimed quietly, “It’s just, um, with my mother, Margaery and … well, them being themselves. And now your mother and Ned speeding things up … Arya, I had no choice! We … _we were running out of time!_ ”  
“What the fuck are you talking about!?” she hissed, furious.  
“ _Us!_ You and me—” he sounded almost desperate.  
_“There is no ‘us’! ”_ she spat, ice in her voice.  
“Deny it all you want … deep down you know _there is!_ ” he countered hurt, yet certain. And continued defensively, “Arya, I had to do something! I couldn’t just stand by and watch … watch you become _his!_ Arya, I—”  
“YOUR GRACE!” her father growled, stepping around the corner, “This is hardly appropriate! And I believe my daughter has made herself perfectly clear!” dumbfounding her and the prince alike.

“Lord Stark! I … I meant no disrespect!” he stammered baffled, “I didn’t mean to—”  
“Arya, we’re leaving!” Eddard Stark snarled, staring down the younger yet taller man and making him step aside, abashed. So her father could drag her from her lousy hideout, “Come, child!”  
But they didn’t get far, “Lord Stark! May I have a word with you before the feast?” the crown prince called.  
Making her father turn abruptly, “Of course, you may, your grace! Though, the outcome will likely be the same.”  
Before they continued their way out, hearing metal clanking and wood splinter behind them. _Hopefully smashing his own head in. Stupid bull-headed prince._

However, before they stepped out from under the terraces her father stopped her, demanding dead serious, “Why were you down there with him!?”  
“Because that stupid idiot followed me, obviously!” Arya snapped defensively, “I was just hiding …”  
“Did he try _something!?_ ” _Of course, her stupid reputation was most important!_  
“He didn’t touch me …” _today._ she retorted, slightly offended, “If that’s what you mean!? He was just talking—”  
“Are you sure about that? I think I heard quite a bit of _his talking …_ ” her father inquired.  
“Yes, Father!” she huffed, “He was _just talking_ … apologising, I suppose.” _Though, clearly sucked at it._

And behind the terraces Lady Catelyn and Sansa awaited them, both evidently trying to keep a straight face, but failed. Sansa’s expression was a mixture of hurt and shocked disbelief, while their mother’s face was hard as steel, looking daggers at Arya. Who felt anger boil up inside of her again, clenching her fists once more. In frustration over _her own stupidity_ this time. _She could have easily avoided all of this!_ She had behaved all proper throughout the tourney. Well, at least while her mother had been watching. She would have had Needle and her other belongings returned to her after the feast tonight. _Had she just gotten up earlier! Just an instant. Had she paid attention throughout the last tilt! She could have been off the terrace before the prince even got to his stupid garland …_ And now she would lose Needle for good. And her steed, as well. And Sansa … _she would undoubtedly hate her for the rest for their lives! All because of him. That bloody deceiving liar!_

But at least, her sister and Lady Mother had spared her another public chiding – or rather themselves the further public embarrassment. At first, none had said a word on their carriage ride back to the Red Keep, all four of them staring into space, trying to understand what had happened mere moments ago. Yet, Sansa eventually started glaring at her, with growing hatred.  
Until Arya blurted, “I don’t know why he did it, Sansa!” pleading, “I didn’t mean for this to happen!” halfway expecting her sister would lash out at her.  
But instead, Sansa shifted her glare at their father, next to Arya, hissing, “Why did you bring _her_ here!?” and then whipped her head around to snarl at their mother, “And why did you make her attend the tourney? All dolled up _like that!?_ ” she nodded dismissively at Arya, “I was supposed to be the pretty one!”  
Shocking both their parents, “Sansa!” they gasped in unison.  
But she ignored them, spitting, “You should’ve left her in the North! _She doesn’t belong here! She ruined everything. She ruined my life!_ ”

Although, Arya agreed with almost every of her words, the venom dripping from her sister’s lips uttering them, hurt. _Like a knife through the heart._ As Sansa started sobbing uncontrollably, clinging into their mother’s embrace, Arya turned to glare at Lady Catelyn accusingly. _This was your doing! Just as much as his!_  
But then their father spoke, “She’s right, Cat.” causing his wife to look at him, aghast. “Not with everything!” he quickly assured, “But we shouldn’t have brought Arya south. I want her to go home, Cat.” dumbfounding all three women. _Did he mean it?_ Arya stared at him.  
“Ned, we agreed on this! She can’t go on like that, she needs to marry eventually—” Catelyn Tully objected immediately.  
“But not _him!_ ” her husband blurted.  
“Oh, don’t be silly! After that outburst, embarrassing him—”  
“Cat, he asked to see me! _Tonight,_ before the feast.” Lord Stark stated alarmed.  
And Sansa and his wife gasped, “What!? When?”  
“He was there … under the terrace.” Ned Stark sighed, causing Sansa to glare at Arya, as if she wanted to murder her.

“I didn’t do anything! He followed me there.” she blurted reflexively, proposing, “I’ll go home! First light in the morning, I’m gone. I promise!”  
“No, you’re not, stupid! He wants _you!_ ” Sansa snarled dismissively, shocking her.  
“ _What!?_ ”  
“He’s gonna to ask for your hand, you idiot!” her sister spat hateful.  
“ _What!?_ ” Arya felt her ears buzz again. _This was a nightmare! This wasn’t real. Couldn’t be!_  
“We don’t know that, yet.” Lady Catelyn tried to appease, “Maybe he just wants to assure your father that he harbours no grudge against your sister or House Stark. But until we know, there can’t be any talk of Arya going home!”  
“Why!?” Arya demanded, getting angry again. _That fucking prince was ruining her life!_ “You can’t make me stay! Father said—”  
“He’s the crown prince, Arya, _the future king!_ If he should propose marriage—” Lady Catelyn went on.  
“ _I don’t care who the fuck he is! I won’t marry him!_ ” Arya snapped, “You can’t make me—”   
“ _Mother!_ You can’t mean …” Sansa drowned her out, close to despair, “She’d make an awful queen!”  
“We’ve to handle this now very careful, _girls!_ ” their mother shot their father a warning glance, “We can’t risk to insult the crown. _If_ he should request her hand, we can’t refuse him—”  
“No, Mother!” Arya fumed, spilling angry tears now herself, “You can melt Needle down a thousand times … _I won’t do it!_ ”

However, right then they passed through the gate of the Red Keep. _Her gilded cage! And her mother would make her serve a life sentence … if that fucking prince … he had claimed he wanted her to have a choice … and she walked unsuspectingly right into his trap. Like the bloody fool she was!_ As soon as their carriage came to stop in the courtyard, Sansa was out of it, running to lock herself in into her chamber. But Arya only realised they had stopped, upon feeling her father’s thumb wipe away her tears. At that, she darted from the carriage as well, for once voluntarily following her sister’s example. Passing the already dumbfounded Heward and Tom, who were guarding the entrance to the Hand’s Tower and almost toppling Desmond on the stairs, before she finally could close her chamber’s door behind her. Only to realise, _her key was gone! Bloody hawk of a mother!_

Raging, she dragged her trunks to the door, barring it. _At least now her thousand stupid dresses proved useful for once._ Slumping down onto the floor behind the last one, she intended to defend her door with her own body weight. _As long as she could._ Yet, soon her fury was giving way to something else. Something she couldn’t really name. _It was all a lie! A deceit. She had thought him a stag, no threat to a wolf, at least not to the kind of wolf she was. When in truth he was a lion, digging his teeth into her throat now. How could she have been be so blind? So stupid? But more so, how could he do this to her!? She had thought him her friend! Had trusted him. Worse even! Had liked him. A lot. Like no one else before! She had thought his smile the most beautiful sight in the world. His touch the most exciting thing she had ever felt. And his eyes … never had she seen anything more intriguing. She could’ve lost herself in their endless blue. And wouldn’t have minded! She could have spent the rest of her life with him at the forge. Watching him work. His muscles move under his skin. His brows furrowed in concentration. Bending steel to his will. Shaping it into the finest art pieces … while listening to her tales of Winterfell, as if they weren’t childish nonsense at all. But it was all a lie! Just a vicious trick._

Thus, by the time her father and mother came to talk to her, she was so lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t even heard them knocking.  
Only Lady Catelyn’s yelling, “Arya, you will open this door at once!” ripped her from her thoughts. _Not gonna happen._  
Though, when she remained silent, her father called, “Child, I’ve Needle here with me!”  
“Good for you! But threatening to melt it down won’t do the trick anymore!”  
“No one’s going to melt it down! But, you’ve to open the door, if you want it back!” he offered.  
“Do you think me _that stupid!?_ ” she snarled hateful.  
“It’s not a trick, child! I swear it to the old gods.”

And indeed, her father stood there with Needle in his hand, when she had removed the trunks and cautiously opened the door.  
_“Why?”_ she asked warily, studying both her parents.  
“We agreed on what happened today wasn’t your fault. At least not the part before your yelling. And I believe the yelling happened mainly due to your state of shock …” her father proclaimed.  
While Arya studied her mother’s steely face narrow-eyed, waiting for the furious chiding to erupt. But somehow it failed to materialise, causing Arya’s frown to deepen.  
“May we come in?” her father asked, making her silently step aside and slump down onto one of her trunks, crossing her arms in front of her chest, hoping this wouldn’t be about what she feared it were about.

Ned Stark placed Needle carefully onto her bed, and sat down next to his daughter, “The crown prince was here to see me.” _But it was! Of course._  
Arya narrowed her eyes further, absently growling, “What did he want?”  
“He requested your hand in marriage!” Catelyn Tully announced frigidly.  
Nodding bitterly, Arya snarled, “And _you_ gave in!” glaring at her mother.  
_That’s why they returned Needle! To lull her. Hoping she’d consent then … like the stupid little girl they thought her!_

“No.” her father said quietly.  
Making Arya’s incredulous stare shift to him and back to her mother, “But you said—”  
“His suggestion! Not mine.” Lady Catelyn replied displeased, causing Arya to look back at her father.  
“The prince’s.” he clarified. _Huh?_ “He proposed marriage, it’s true. But also for me to postpone any decisions concerning your hand. Apparently, he wants a chance to woo you properly.”  
“ _Apparently!_ ” Lady Stark growled ill-humoured.  
“And you said ‘No’ to that?” Arya asked guardedly.  
“No, to that I agreed.” _Huh?_  
“Giving _you_ another half year to shoo _him_ and every other suitor away!” her mother hissed disapprovingly.  
“ _What game’s he playing!?_ ” Arya thought aloud, frowning.  
“That’s the question indeed!” Catelyn Tully scowled at her husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARYA
> 
> I wanted to show how shocked she is and how she hates that Gendry made his intentions for her in the most public way possible clear. With everyone from the Red Keep, half the population of King's Landing and hundreds of nobles and their vassals from all over the Seven Kingdoms present. And because she returns his feelings it hurts so bad, that he forced this situation upon her. A situation he should know, she never wanted to find herself in. She feels utterly betrayed and alone now. With Ned already ignoring her wishes, she had believed Gendry were her only friend left. Only to find out, he disrespected her (wishes) just the same.
> 
> GENDRY
> 
> Deep down Gendry hoped he could just place the garland in Arya’s lap and surprise her enough, so she wouldn’t have time to react until he had ridden off to the royal loge. And if not that, he had expected Arya to throw the garland angrily against the next wall (if he were lucky) or into his face (if he were unlucky). But he never expected it to go down the way it did. For her to be so shocked, almost paralyzed and yet still able to refuse the garland almost politely. And for himself to be so nervous and hurt when she refused him. And most of all, he never expected to have to choose another woman as Queen of Love and Beauty. That’s why it took him so long to come up with Myrcella.
> 
> EDDARD
> 
> First, for Eddard it came entirely out of the blue, that Gendry wanted to crown Arya Queen of Love and Beauty, since he never once attempted to woo her before (in public). Also, Cat surely told Eddard about the rumours Gendry would soon choose Sansa or Margaery as his bride. So, this caught him entirely by surprise.
> 
> But of course the biggest shock for Eddard was, seeing the similarities to the Tourney at Harrenhal: Ned wore Arya’s ribbon and Eddard and Cat were about to accept, if he had proposed marriage. So, in Eddard’s eyes Arya was as good as betrothed. Though, that is just his personal feeling. Officially there was no fault or no disrespect/insult in Gendry choosing Arya. Officially she didn’t ‘belong’ to Ned, yet. But what Eddard also disliked, was, that Gendry chose the woman his best friend evidently loved and wanted to marry. Eddard of course thought that dishonourable. And that not only reminded him of Rhaegar’s selfish deed at Harrenhal, but strongly of Robert’s selfishness and arrogance.
> 
> Until this last tourney day, Eddard really liked Gendry. A lot. He showed all the good traits of his father and mother, but near to none of their bad ones. After seeing how badly Robert was doing as king, wasting money and sneering at any responsibilities, aside from warfare, Gendry was Eddard’s hope for a better future for the Seven Kingdoms. So, Eddard now fears Gendry might be more like Robert than he had thought, that he could turn into his father (womanizer, drunkard, idiot, brute...) And finding Gendry alone with Arya under the terraces, addressing her intimately (without her title) and announcing he wants to be with her, only added to Eddard’s fears. The only thing he heard/saw then, was, Robert 2.0 wanting Lyanna 2.0, and it terrified him. That’s why he was so harsh and tried to put Gendry in his place.
> 
> PRESENT vs. PAST
> 
> I wanted to show that Robert never really knew Lyanna, that all he saw was her beauty, but not her wild spirit (as is suggested in canon/semi-canon, too). He seemed to believe Lyanna would have never opposed him like Cersei did. Which I think is absolute rubbish. I believe Robert would’ve hated Lyanna even more than Cersei, had they been married. 
> 
> Though, I personally see Arya as an even wilder spirit (I don’t see her to become fond of flowers so much, like Lyanna was). Anyway, I wanted to point that unlike Robert, Gendry knows exactly who Arya is and that her personality is intriguing him way more than her beauty. But since no one knew they met in secret, it looked to all these innocent bystanders - Robert, Eddard, Cat, Sansa and so on - as if Gendry just decided to crown her because he thinks her pretty.
> 
> THE WHITE DRESS
> 
> Yes, that was a hint at a modern day wedding gown. But Cat also wanted to be prepared, in case Ned would ask for Arya's hand on the last tourney day. So she picked the one Stark colour that is also a Dayne colour. Also, Cat couldn’t know which flowers Ned would chose, so she made sure Arya’s dress fit to whatever garland Ned would get. 
> 
> Plus, it naturally was meant to encourage Ned once more to finally propose marriage. After all Ned was courting Arya now for half a year – publicly, yet still entirely unofficial. I'd say that is a long time in feudal societies, and it surely would seem odd to outsiders, that Ned Dayne never once approached Eddard Stark to request Arya’s hand in marriage. So, that is why Cat was getting nervous. She started fearing Ned would never dare to ask. Which would mean, all of Cat’s efforts from the past half year would have been for nothing.


	12. The Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tourney's final feast in honour of its champion takes place. And both Eddard and Cat insist on Arya attending, in hope to convince the courtiers there is nothing to gossip about. Though of course, it's more like running the gauntlet for Arya. Everyone gawking at her and Sansa, gossiping and sneering. And mostly, watching Arya, Ned and Gendry like hawks. Therefore, all three of them take to their wine cups to cope with it. And although Arya doesn't drink as much as the lads, she does so with an empty belly and suffers from sleep deprivation - also thanks to that stupid princeling. Just the perfect recipe for more drama and emotions boil up ... even though, some of them do so to cover up the actual ones.

Arya had hoped, her mother would see reason, had hoped, she were allowed to skip the feast. To clear her mind. _To find a way out!_ But of course, Lady Catelyn knew no mercy, not when it came to her daughters’ future. Or rather the ambitions she had for them. Of course, her mother expected her to attend the feast, _why was she even surprised?_ Catelyn Tully wanted a prince for a good son and a queen for a daughter. Of course, her mother wouldn’t stop now … with her dream finally within reach. _Why care it was the wrong daughter!?_

And so, before Arya had even been able to object, her lady mother explained, the best strategy now were, to put on a straight face to show the people there was nothing to gossip about. Just an inexperienced young girl, who hadn’t been long enough at court to understand protocol. But Arya no longer cared for what her mother thought best. _That caused the whole damn mess!_ Consequently, she and her mother found themselves bickering as usual. Arya dreading the hundreds of eyes watching her every step, and Lady Catelyn dreading the even bigger embarrassment of Arya missing out. Which were just as good as admitting there were a hidden scandal to speculate about, Lady Stark argued.  
“I don’t care! They can speculate all they want! But they won’t ever see me again!” Arya yelled.  
Forcing Eddard Stark to intervene, “And what about your sister!? Do you want her to face _these people_ alone?” _Damn._

“When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.” her father reminded her, “We need to be there tonight. All four of us! To show the people who want us weakened, that _we’re not!_ ”  
Swallowing, Arya nodded and sullenly sat down in front of the looking glass, to let her mother dress her hair. While she stared through her own reflection, searching her mind for a way out of this. Yet, all she found was _him._ And her once treasured memories of him. _They were all corrupted now._ Overshadowed by his betrayal, and her sister’s hurt reproaches.

Subsequently, when they arrived at the Great Hall an hour later – immediate murmuring and staring greeting them – Arya forced herself to look up, following her parents’ example, staring each and every one down, who dared to look at them the wrong way. And seeing Sansa’s glance searching vainly for a friendly pair of orbs to lock eyes with, only fuelled her protectiveness. She could not undo what the crown prince had done, but she could shield her sister from the bold gawking, showing the gossipmongers they were a quite literal pack of wolves. _Standing together against all odds._

Well, at least they had done so, until Margaery had walked into the hall by her brother’s arm, looking delighted, truly if nothing had happened. Even though, she got the same pitiful glances as Sansa – and even gloating ones. Still, the Tyrell woman greeted all four of them with a supposedly warm smile. Yet, her gaze lingered a little too long on Arya, allowing her to see through the charade. _She was out for blood._

And obviously intended for her sister to aid her in that task, as she quickly lured Sansa away from them after that. Hence Arya soon found herself digging her nails into her palms again, glaring at Margaery and her vultures. Who unmistakeably derided her every move, assessing her unfit to marry a prince. Least of all the crown prince. _You can have him! You deserve each other, you deceiving schemers!_ Arya wanted to yell at the viper.

Yet, right then Ned entered the Great Hall, accompanied by Trystane and some other young knights. And the curious looks wandered instantly from her to him and back. Expectantly. Waiting for something to happen between the supposed lovers. Although, Arya stole glances at him herself, Ned refused to meet her eyes. Only when he sat down at a table across from theirs, he locked eyes with her for a mere flash. Too short for her to guess what it could have meant. He instantly dropped his gaze, grabbing the wine cup Trystane had filled him, emptying it and engaging in conversation with his friends, ignoring her again – robbing the scandalmongers of the drama they craved. _Monsters … all of them! A friendship shattered into a thousand pieces and all they cared for was to watch it front row. Hadn’t they had enough scandal, today?_ Arya thought bitterly.

Obviously not, since all voices died down, as the royal family arrived. Though, fortunately the king wouldn’t have it, calling immediately for another round of cheering to the tourney’s champion. And thankfully the crowd obeyed. Unlike Arya, who mirrored Ned’s earlier action, tensely grabbing the wine jug, filling her cup and gulping it down. Hiding behind the far too small vessel – as the royal family passed their table. In vain, she instantly felt eyes on her, piercing her. And when she finally dared to meet them, her eyes caught Ned’s. Studying each other for a moment, before he averted his gaze again. But his eyes weren’t the ones flustering her. A quick side-glance to the dais proved, the crown prince was watching her as well, though his gaze she wasn’t able to hold. _Damn._

Throughout the banquet, Arya fought the blush creeping up from under her gown’s neckline. Intent to sit it out as her mother had advised, she tried to focus on her plate. Poking listless at the food – trying to overcome the urge to instinctively look up, whenever she felt their eyes on her. _Ned’s. And his._ Without success. Worse even, the longer it went, the more often she caught them scowling at each other in between watching her – arousing everyone’s attention.

First, it was only some gossipmongers, but soon Margaery and Sansa saw it, too.  
“Haven’t you embarrassed us yet enough?” her sister hissed.  
“I’m not doing anything!” Arya replied, unable to hide the angry tone.  
“You’re looking at them, you’re making it worse. Stop it!” _I can’t._ Arya’s instincts were on alert, as if expecting an attack any moment.

Especially, when the king called for the music and dancing to start. That only added to her anxiety. After what happened at the arena, she had no intention to let her guard down again. _Expect the worst!_ Therefore, no matter how awkward and upsetting it was, she forced herself to keep an eye on _him_ , as he and Myrcella led the dance. But also on anyone else nearing their table. Like Tommen, who ignored court protocol and rose before Joffrey, asking a surprised Sansa to dance – her sister had feared the men at court would shun her now. _So, at least one prince knew to behave!_ And Sansa’s affected smile soon even turned into a small genuine one.

The crown prince on the other hand, allowed Trystane to take over with Myrcella and returned to the dais, refusing to dance with anyone else afterwards. Which obviously led to a heated yet hushed debate with the queen, yet he remained unwavering. So, while Joffrey complacently stepped in for him, dancing with all the daughters of the prominent houses, he followed Ned’s example. Focussing on his cup of wine and his conversation with Renly and Ser Jaime, the while stealing glances at Arya. Unnerving her into expecting another idiot move of him any moment.

Which made it even harder for her to keep a watchful eye on the other idiots in the hall. After seeing Sansa dance three dances with Tommen and two with Joffrey, admirers flocked to the older Stark girl like bees round a honeypot. And from then on, every once while a moron – who evidently hadn’t understood her message in the arena – came to ask Arya to dance. Interestingly though, now of a sudden her Lady Mother urged her to refuse. Undoubtedly due to seeing Ned and the crown prince scowl at the men furiously.

Only, the drunken king got it all wrong, eventually roaring, “Has none of you fools the balls to ask the prettiest girl in this hall to dance?” puzzling his courtiers, “Well, then I will!” Robert tried to rise from his seat.  
But was stopped by his firstborn placing a hand on his arm, “Father, no!”  
“What, BOY?” the king tried to yank his arm free, “Just because you’re not man enough to ask the little she-wolf yourself—” _What!?_  
“She doesn’t want to dance!” his firstborn growled, clearly tightening his grip.  
“With you maybe! But she’ll dance with me!” _The hells!_  
Arya pushed her chair angrily from the table. _Fucking Baratheons._  
“You leave her be, you damn drunkard!” the prince snarled then, looking daggers at his father. _Time to get out of here!_  
“He's right, Robert! The little wolf isn’t much into dancing.” Renly intervened.

And it was the last thing Arya heard of the dispute at the dais, since her own father had gotten up, “Let’s get some fresh air, till that old fool’s retired to his chambers!” he whispered, swiftly leading her from the Great Hall.  
“What about Sansa and Mother?”  
“They’ll know where to find us! You and I need to talk.” Ned Stark said, leading her out into the gardens. Clearly trying to be out of earshot of others, when he stopped at some balustrade with view over Blackwater Bay, “Child, I didn’t want to ask this in front of your mother, but to ask I have.” _Oh gods, what was it now?_

“You see, your mother and I already wondered, why the crown prince wouldn’t ask you to dance tonight.” her father said, studying her, “How come he knows you don’t like dancing?”  
“But I do!” Arya blurted reflexively.  
“Yes, your Water Dancing. Though, courtly dancing? No, you never liked that. Except maybe, to tease your mother by dancing with Jon all night.” her father chuckled, before he got serious again, “So, how come _he_ knows something about you the other men at court evidently don’t?”  
“That’s not true! Ned knows and Renly and Loras, Trystane … They could’ve told him! Or Sansa or Myrcella.” Arya argued defensively, “In fact, anyone with a brain could’ve figured that out in the past half year.”

“True.” her father sighed, “But what about your sword’s name? How does he know that?” _Seven hells!_ “He asked me to return ‘Needle’ to you, despite your outburst at the arena!” her father explained, watching her shocked reaction closely. _Seven bloody hells._  
“Um…” _Better tell some truth!_ “he once walked into me, after practice.” she felt her cheeks reddening.  
“ _Once?_ ” Ned Stark asked doubtingly. _Would he ever cease to get her in trouble!?_  
“Yes, _once!_ ”  
“So, you weren’t secretly sparring with him?” her father inquired.  
“What!? No…” Arya stuttered astounded.  
“Are you certain!?” her father inquired doubtfully.  
_“I swear!”_ she tried to calm her voice, “He just found me _once. After_ practice. That’s the only time, he got to see Needle.” _Technically, no lie._  It had remained in its scabbard that night in Flea Bottom.

“Arya, you’d tell me, if there were something going on with you and Prince Gendry, would you?” Eddard Stark asked, clearly worried.  
_“There isn’t!”_ she snapped alarmed. _No lie, either. Whatever had been going on … it was over now!_ “And I’m still a maiden, if that’s what you worry about!” she added, watching from the corner of her eye how her father slightly relaxed.  
“I’m worried about _you,_ child! You used to tell me when something bothered you. But lately, you’re so … secretive. It frightens me.”  
“You don’t tell me what’s bothering you, either!” Arya retorted stubbornly.  
“I’m telling you _now,_ am I not?” Lord Stark tried to appease his daughter, giving her time to respond.  
“Telling you won’t change anything!” she stated gloomily after a while.  
“It might.” her father offered comfortingly.

 _“No, it won’t! ”_ she hissed bitterly, “Eventually, you’ll make me marry! _Him_ or Ned, or whoever else you seem fit … What I want hasn’t mattered in a long time!”  
“That’s not true—”  
_“Yes, it is!”_ she insisted, “I told you at least a hundred times, marrying some high lord and bearing his children … _that’s not me!_ I want to be a knight. A fighter. Because that’s what I’m good at, _what I love._ Yet, we’re here! You and Mother looking for just that, a high lord to marry me off to. Only it’s not just a lord anymore, but a damn prince now! Who listens to me as much as you do, namely not. So, I’m done talking!” _To either of you._  
“Child—” Ned Stark tried to allay.  
_“I’m not a child anymore!_ I’m a grown woman and I want to be left in peace now!” Arya snapped at her father, yet, felt guilty right away, “ _Please!_ I know it’s after nightfall and not proper, but I need to be alone now. Just for a while.”  
Her father sighed, before he assured, “It’s fine. I trust you, ch— … _daughter._ And I can’t speak for the prince, but I’m still listening! And I’m gonna think on what you said. I promise.” and pulled her into a hug, kissing her forehead, before he headed back to the Great Hall.

However, with the gardens well illuminated as usual at festivities, Arya soon felt eyes on her again. _So much for peace._ At first, she tried to ignore them, staring at Blackwater Bay, brooding. But soon she could hear taunting whispers again. Getting closer. Unmistakeably the vultures, _trying to prey on her._

Why her!? I just don’t get it! Yeah. Sansa I’d understand. Yeah, she’s a born queen. But her!? How can she even be related to Sansa and Lady Catelyn? So true. Just look at her! Any Flea Bottom wench is more well-bred. Totally! Maybe he’s gone mad? Oh, that’d be a real shame, he’s so handsome! Yeah. But there’s a drop of Targaryen blood in him. Right. I forgot. Don’t be silly, she bewitched him! Absolutely. With some Wildling spells, I bet. Yeah. She’s a savage! Yeah. Worse than the beast she apparently was raised with!  
At that, Arya had enough and turned around, “If you think me a savage wolf, then what are you!? Sheep? Stupid, suicidal sheep, it appears! If I were you, I’d run …” she teased and shouted, “NOW!” startling them. Before she snarled like Nymeria, as loud as she could, shocking them. Making them scurry away squealing, and herself laugh out loud. _Fools._

And some courtiers even joined in with her, mostly young knights, though.  
But it was Renly’s bellowing laughter and applause, “Bravo, little wolf!” that caught her attention.  
Yet, the smile right to him made her own one die instantly. She quickly turned towards the bay again, placing her clenched fists on the balustrade. Hoping he would get it. Which of course he didn’t, as she heard him approaching.  
“Can we please talk?” he asked, stepping to the balustrade, a few feet away from her.  
“No.” she growled.  
But he tried nonetheless, “I get it. You’re mad—”  
“Aren’t you a real genius?!” she hissed and stormed off.  
“And for how long intends _my lady_ to stay mad at me?” he called after her, sounding somewhat angry himself.  
“How about _forever!?_ ” she shouted back over her shoulder, speeding up her pace.  
_Stupid bull-headed princeling._ She had no intentions to hear his excuses.

She fled down the next best stairs, leading to a lower levelled garden. However, seeing Littlefinger and Margaery coming her way, made her quickly turn on her heel. _Hells, was no one dancing anymore?_ Ascending the stairs again, Arya took the one way leading away from them and the prince. Right into Ned’s arms. _Fuck._ He and some young knights and ladies stood less than fifty feet away, making her stop abruptly, chewing her lower lip insecurely. Yet, when her eyes found his, he held her gaze this time.  
And when he eventually looked away, it was only for an instant, saying something to his friends, before he walked over to her, sheepishly asking, “Care to go for a stroll, my lady?”  
And she could only nod, unsure if she should give in to the relief she felt, because he no longer avoided her. Or if she should fear what he were about to say to her now.

They walked a moment in awkward silence, before they both blurted together, “I’m sorry!” puzzling each other.  
Though, Ned was quicker to regain his wits, “Arya, there’s no need for you to apologise!” leading her through a rose arch into a small grove surrounded by walls of shrubs, providing cover from prying eyes.  
“Yes, there is! Everyone said, you’d crown me and I panicked and rooted for _him._ But I didn’t know he’d do that, I swear!” she blundered out anxiously.  
“I did!” Ned drooped his head, “That’s why I asked for the ribbon. I mean, I really wanted to ask for your favour, but I knew you think it nonsense. So, normally I wouldn’t have done it. But I wanted him to back off! So, I just had to ask … and couldn’t drop out. Not against _him!_ I’m sorry, Arya!” “  
I know, I’m not mad at you.” she assured, surprising him.

“I mean, I was. I wanted to rip your head off, to be honest. But that was before _he_ … I just didn’t understand it before.” she explained, “Ned, I wish you would've told me!”  
“Well, how could I? I mean, he’s an absolute arse, lately at least. But he’s my friend, my best friend, Arya! Ever since I came here with Lord Beric. And I knew he liked you from the start … but you didn’t like him! And he kept his distance, then.” Ned stated, “So, I didn’t think much of it. Until he started showing up everywhere! And it just pissed me off, how well you two suddenly got along. Getting closer and all that … and unfortunately jealousy got the better of me. Making me do stupid things, like applying pressure to you.”

“I know. But why didn’t you tell me about _you?_ ” Arya asked reluctantly, afraid of what she would have to say now.  
And he took a deep breath and swallowed, “Arya, I … I like you. _A lot._ More than liking … _way more._ ” he admitted red-faced, unable to look at her now, “And it’s true, I want you to be my wife. Not right away, though! In a couple of years, maybe. I know that’s just me! But I hoped, that maybe one day, you … you’d like me that way, too. And I guess, until then I didn’t want to lose you … your friendship.”  
“You’ll never lose my friendship, Ned!” she took his hand in both of hers, to make him face her, “Never. I swear!”  
“But you don’t feel … what I feel?”  
“No.” she stated quietly, “I’m sorry … I wish I would, really.”  
He nodded, clearly disappointed, “Me, too.”  

Sighing, he asked, “And what about _him?_ ” studying her.  
_“He can jump into a lake for all I care!”_ Arya snapped, getting furious again.  
“I guess, your mother wouldn’t like losing her new favourite good son candidate like that.” he chuckled sadly.  
“I’m not sure, that little trick he played on Father pissed her off. Badly!” she snorted.  
“What do you mean?” Ned frowned.  
“You know, first requesting my hand, and when Father was about to refuse, asking him to postpone betrothing me to anyone else for the next half year … so he can prove himself to Father.”  
“ _And to you!_ That damn smart-alecky Lannister spawn …” Ned blurted, sounding almost impressed, “He planned it all along! Now I feel even more like a fool. I stupidly speed things up, pressuring you … and he’s doing just the opposite! Giving you more time—”

“Half a year isn’t much time, Ned!” she scoffed, “And it won’t change anything! _Not for me._ ”  
“I bet, he would've given you more time, if it weren’t for your mother.” Ned countered.  
“Doesn’t matter! Just like asking Father to give me Needle back, as if that would sway me into marrying him …”  
“He did what!?” Ned shook his head in disbelief, “Damn, he’s good—”  
“Stop admiring him!” she huffed annoyed, “A trick’s a trick! No matter how well played. And I don’t like being played!”  
“No. That you don’t!” he chuckled and squeezed her left hand, making her realise he never let go of it. _There was no tingling … at all._

“Well, isn’t that a lovely couple!?” they suddenly heard from the rose arch, seeing Joffrey and Margaery standing there. Together. _Great._  
“It is, my prince!” the Tyrell stated frigidly, “Though, I wonder what your brother might think of it.”  
“You’re right, my lady! I think I’m obliged to intervene here in his stead.” Joffrey smirked and they entered the grove.  
Making Ned step forth, “ _Your grace,_ if your brother has a problem with me courting the Lady Arya, he can tell me to my face!”  
“So eager to be thrown into the dust again, Dayne?” Joffrey teased dismissively.  
Which made Arya step next to him, mocking, “I recall you dropping into the dust way sooner! Even before your baby brother, _your grace!_ ” tempted to reveal, who actually unhorsed him.

“How dare you, _wolf-bitch!?_ ” Joffrey spat, rushing towards her.  
But Ned stepped into his way, snarling, “Is that your idea of driving a wedge between me and Gendry? Ain’t working, Joff, on the contrary!”  
“I see, the She-wolf still has her fangs in both men!” Margaery taunted, pulling Joffrey away. And he let her. Probably knowing, _he’d stand no chance against Ned._  
“And you wasted no time, twining your thorny tendrils around the next best _thing!_ ” Arya challenged the viper.

“A real cunning move, _Lady_ Arya!” Margaery falsely flattered, “Playing the childish tomboy to stick out amongst the rest of us to catch his eye, and then going after his best friend, to make him go green with envy. Well played indeed!”  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Arya hissed, storming out of the grove.  
“You can stop with your little charade now!” Margaery called after her.  
And Joffrey added, “Yeah, nobody’s buying it anyway! Except you, Dayne!” as Ned followed her through the rose arch.

“Don’t underestimate her, Arya!” he warned, when he caught up with her.  
“I’m not afraid of her!”  
“That’s what I fear, you need to watch out! She has the means to ruin you …” Ned insisted.  
“What’s her damn problem anyway!? I refused him, she can still have him—” Arya fumed.  
“You know he doesn't want her! She feared it for years and now she sees it confirmed.”  
“But that's not my fault! No need to take it out on me … _I’m no fucking scapegoat!_ ” she huffed.  
“But he’s the fucking crown prince!” Ned retorted, “And not everyone has the guts to tell the future king to fuck off. Like you did …”  
“You want me to believe that viper is just as much a coward as the rest of them!?” she snorted, cocking her eyebrow.  
“That’s probably why she hates you so much!” Ned chuckled, as they passed the central fountain in the garden.

“So, basically, you and I are the only ones telling that princeling he’s an idiot!?” she concluded.  
“Pretty much.” he laughed.  
“How did you endure being friends with such a fool for so long?”  
“You've seen the other morons here at court, right!?” Ned teased.  
“Myrcella’s no moron!”  
“Well, I could hardly attend embroidery sessions with her, could I?”  
Causing her to laugh, “At least then my stitches wouldn’t be the only crooked ones!”  
“That’s what you think!” he teased, nudging her shoulder, “I bet, even my embroidery would be nicer than yours …”  
“Shut up, stupid!” she playfully shoved him.

“You two got to be jesting!?” the crown prince suddenly snorted from behind them, stepping closer, his speech slightly slurred, “ _Him_ you forgive—”  
“He’s no _deceiving liar!_ ” Arya spat.  
_“He did the exact same thing!”_  
“You can hardly compare that!” Ned objected.  
“Huh!?” the crown prince raised his brow in disbelief, “The only difference is, you didn’t win!”  
“No, he only did it to stop _you!_ ” Arya snarled.  
“Horseshit! He did it because he wants you, and realised you like me better!” the prince snorted dismissively.  
“Well, guess what, idiot!? I don’t. _I hate you!_ ” Arya hissed, glaring at the prince.  
_“Liar!”_ he glared back at her, proclaiming, “Just because you don’t like someone, doesn’t mean you don’t love them!” perplexing her.  
“What the fuck, Gendry!” Ned blurted, “When did you turn into such a narcissistic prick!?”  
“Her words, not mine!” he scoffed, still glaring at Arya.  
“Meaning my me and my sister! Not you, you fucking arsehole!” Arya shouted.  
“Doesn’t mean, they don’t apply to you and me as well!” he retorted, huffing.

“Do you even realise how delusional you sound!?” Ned hissed bewildered.  
And the prince spat, “I’m not the one who forced her into giving me her ribbon!”  
“Yeah, me wearing her favour really pissed you off, didn’t it!?” Ned snarled.  
“Not really.” the prince claimed smugly.  
“Yes, it did!” Arya interposed.  
“No, not after hearing he and your mother blackmailed you into it!”  
“I did no such thing!” Ned shouted.  
“Keep telling yourself that!” the prince countered, “You know, she wouldn’t have done it voluntarily!”  
“And of course with you she would’ve done so, huh?” Ned snorted, not perceiving how Arya’s eyes widened. _He wouldn’t!_  
But he did. Turning his furious glare from Ned to her, “So, who’s the deceiving liar now, my lady!? Do you want me to tell him, or will you?” draining all colour from her face.

“Tell me what!?” Ned asked baffled, turning alarmed to her, “Arya?”  
_“Don’t you dare!”_ she glared panicking at the prince.  
“You leave me no choice!” he panted with rage and undid some of the upper hooks and eyes on his doublet, pulling out the acorn ribbon from underneath, “I suppose, you recognise the fabric.” he quietly addressed their friend.  
And for a moment Ned just stared at it in disbelief, before he turned to Arya, _“Why?”_  
_“It was a joke!”_ she pleaded, her face flushed bright red, “Just a way to rebel against Mother! I didn’t know, you actually wanted to wear my favour, then … It didn’t mean anything—”  
“It didn’t mean anything!?” the prince blurted affected, “And what about _that?_ ” he nodded at her neck, “Is that also _just a joke_ to you?” _Fuck!_  
She had entirely forgotten, she was still wearing his necklace. Now both men stared at her, aghast.

“You said it was Jon’s—” Ned uttered blankly.  
_“Seriously!?”_ the prince blurted.  
“What was I supposed to tell people!?” she snapped defensively, feeling angry tears well up.  
_“People!? ”_ Ned asked in bewilderment, “I’m not _people!_ And why are you even wearing it?”  
“That’s the question!” the prince glared at her.  
And Ned added, _“I asked you_ … just tonight! And you said—”  
“He _can_ jump into a lake, I mean it!” she snapped desperately.  
“You’re fucking jesting!?” the crown prince spat.  
“Arya, that’s no answer!” Ned ignored him, “He’s wearing your favour, and you his necklace!”  
She swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat. Without success.  
“He’s right …” Ned stared at her, absolutely hurt and disillusioned, “you do love—”  
“NO!” she felt tears running down her cheeks, _“I hate him, he ruined my life!”_  
“No! You’re just mad at him?!” Ned concluded, clenching his jaw and fists, and stormed off. _No…_

Arya was about to run after him, but the prince grabbed her arm, “ _Don’t!_ You and I are the last people, he wants around now!” dragging her with him into the opposite direction.  
_“Let go of me!”_ she yelled.  
And he stopped in his track to face her, snarling, “So keen to let _them_ also hear the rest of our conversation!?” he pointed towards the onlookers – who apparently had flocked together during their quarrel.  
“I don’t care!” she hissed and wrenched her arm free, _“I’m done with you!”_ undoing the necklace, she threw it at him, _“I hate you! You ruined everything!”_  
Making him ball the acorn ribbon up and throw it at her in return, “You ruined a great deal yourself!”  
Fuming, she stormed off, marching right through the dumbstruck gawkers.  
And he shouted furiously at them, “What’re you looking at!?” _Fucking prince._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARYA
> 
> Please understand, she is in denial now, busy with telling herself, she were done with Gendry and that she'd hate him. Remember, this story is told from her POV - that's no reliable narrator. Meaning, she is lying to you readers, whenever she lies to herself. So read a bit between the lines!
> 
> But yes, at this point she is now even mad at her father - though, I think that quite realistic. Teenagers at some point even start fighting with their favourite parent. And she is now utterly disappointed that he still thinks/wants for her to marry a lord and give him heirs, instead of letting her choose her own path.
> 
> GENDRY
> 
> That was quite a tough day for Gendry. First he had to focus on besting Ned, which surely wasn’t easy, knowing Arya would not be happy about becoming Queen of Love and Beauty. And even though, he somehow suspected, she would refuse him (in front of everyone). It still hurt - his heart and his pride.
> 
> Then they get caught by her father and she just stands silently by, as her father chides him, thinking he would’ve tried something inappropriate. 
> 
> Then he asks for her hand, to prevent Cat from instantly betrothing her to Ned. And even manages to give Arya more time. As much time as he could ask of Eddard/Cat without risking them to refuse his suggestion. And even makes sure, she gets Needle back (unknowing Eddard would’ve done so anyway).
> 
> And later at the feast, the whole court knows already he had visited the Tower of the Hand, guessing right, he asked for Arya’s hand. Which he had intended, to keep the taunting/sneering for Arya at a minimum and in hope to make Margaery back off. 
> 
> And he doesn’t ask Arya to dance, which of course people (and mostly Cat) think odd. But he doesn't want to upset Arya any further and also isn't exactly keen to being refused by her a second time in public. He's just a human, after all.
> 
> Then in the gardens he doesn’t save her from the vultures, knowing she wouldn’t thank him for it and would only see it as another disrespecting of her wishes. And yet, she doesn’t appreciate any of this (since she is stubborn and pissed). 
> 
> Yet, to not anger her father any further, Gendry doesn’t want to approach her in private/secret again. So, he chooses the moment when she is alone at the balustrade, where they can be seen by others, but she refuses him again, once more in front of everyone. 
> 
> Yet, since he is just as stubborn and impulsive as she is, he does the stupid thing, drowning his wounded pride in wine for good. And when he sees her laughing with Ned something inside of him just snaps. Jealous and mad at her now for forgiving Ned but not him, he just goes full on confrontation … stupidly.
> 
> EDDARD
> 
> After finding Arya with Gendry under the terraces, Eddard wasn’t willing to accept Gendry’s proposal. But his suggestion to postpone Arya’s betrothal - to prove himself to Eddard and Arya - allayed him. Especially since Eddard himself isn’t very keen on betrothing Arya off already. He likes to address her as ‘child’ for a reason, she’s his little girl and deep down he doesn’t want her to ever grow up and be with a man.
> 
> Yet Eddard was still wary of Gendry. And didn't understand why he (for him and everyone else) out of the blue would request Arya’s hand. Since they had barely been (seen) interacting with one another.
> 
> But then Gendry ‘accidently’ (it was deliberately) slipped the name 'Needle' and asked him to give Arya her sword back to allay her (and to slowly regain Eddard's trust. And in that moment, her father realised, something obviously escaped his notice. 
> 
> And suddenly Arya’s and Gendry’s encounter under the terraces appears in a different light now. He begins to realise, Gendry addressing Arya so intimately (only by her name) wasn’t out of disrespect. But because they apparently know each other better than he'd thought. And slowly he begins to see Gendry doesn’t want Arya because she is beautiful, as Robert believed.
> 
> And also Eddard realised, Arya is obviously hiding something from him. Which is normal for a 16 year old. But it frightens Eddard, because until Arya came to King’s Landing, she always told her father everything. Or at least afterwards, when she had been caught. 
> 
> But now she is keeping secrets and is lying to him, and that reminds him even more of Lyanna. Who obviously kept him in the dark about her plan to elope with Rhaegar (though, I always wondered, if Benjen had known and chose to join the Watch to make amends for the tragedy that followed because he kept his mouth shut). So, that is why Eddard is so spooked and worried now.
> 
> CAT & SANSA
> 
> Read the first comment under this chapter (it didn't fit all into the chapter end notes this time).


	13. The Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this past tourney provided court with more drama than these bored courtiers had dared to hope for. And now the gossipmongers and schemers eagerly spin their yarn about what happened, making the situation for Arya, Gendry, Ned and Sansa even worse. And Arya being the youngest of them and also the most wilful one, sees only one way to cope with the whole mess - she is lashing out - like a wolf caught in a trap. And even though several people try to reach out to her, trying to talk some sense into her, only the last one can eventually make her see reason again.

Predictably, her quarrel with Ned and the crown prince had instantly become public knowledge. _These damn onlookers just couldn’t wait to spread the news._ So, while she had fled back to the Tower of the Hand, slumping down onto the edge of her bed and staring numbly into space, the rumour mill at court had been working with lightning speed. And of course, Margaery and Joffrey had wasted no time spinning their own tale about the incident, claiming they would have caught her and Ned just in time to warn the crown prince of their alleged attempt to elope together. _Bloody hells!_

Thus, when her parents and Sansa barged into her chamber less than an hour later, they found Arya’s version bewilderingly less convincing.  
“Have you lost your minds!?” she snapped, her nerves still raw, “This’s just Margaery messing with your heads, can’t you see that?”  
But the viper and Joffrey weren’t the only ones spreading lies. Others, obviously older gossipmongers quickly added their own yarn to the tale, pointing out the parallels to the Tourney at Harrenhal – prophesising doom for everyone now. _She just refused a damn garland! Was everyone giving in to madness now?_

Apparently. Since some courtiers would even spread rumours of a curse now, Sansa said, lamenting she would never find a husband, with everyone thinking Stark women would spell doom for men.  
“ _Rubbish!_ There’s no curse … just an idiot prince!” Arya objected.  
“ _No, you’re the curse!_ People just stopped whispering behind my back, thanks to Tommen. And you just had to ruin it again, had you!? You’re a plague—” Sansa spat, glaring at Arya.  
“ENOUGH!” their father shouted, before he addressed his older daughter more calmly, “Your sister undoubtedly contributed to the escalation tonight, and losing her temper in public twice a day was all but smart.” he shot Arya a warning glance, “But she didn’t start it, Sansa, you know that! Prince Gendry hurt you today, not your sister. And we _all_ wish he hadn’t. But you hurting Arya to cope with it, isn’t right. And it’s about time you two act like sisters!”  
“But _why_ did he do it?” Sansa snivelled, tears running down her cheeks, “I spent a whole year trying to please him … I really thought he liked me … _Why her?_ What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing!” Arya assured.  
And Lady Catelyn pulled her older daughter into an embrace.  
“Am I not pretty enough?” Sansa sobbed, searching for an explanation.  
“Of course, you are!” Lady Stark placated.  
“There’s no woman more beautiful than you in Westeros!” Arya declared.  
“Then why did he choose _you!?_ All you ever did was scoff at him!” Sansa questioned, locking eyes with her sister.  
“Because he’s a bull-headed idiot!” _Why else?_  
“I don’t think it’s that simple.” Ned Stark sat down next to Arya, “We don’t get to choose who we like, or who likes us! Sometimes our feelings are reciprocated, sometimes not.”  
“But he does like her, he told me so!” Arya stated stubbornly.   
“But _not enough!_ Not the way he likes you …” Sansa countered, snivelling, “And with all these horrible rumours now, who’d marry _me!?_ ”

“Not all men are foolish enough to believe such nonsense!” Eddard Stark assured.  
_Hopefully! Or else Sansa would never forgive her._  
“In fact, the men who dare to court you _now,_ they’re the smart ones, the brave ones!” their mother proclaimed, “They’ll stand up for you and protect you, even against a mighty opponent as House Tyrell. You should see this as a chance, Sansa! You might find yourself a real treasure. And you couldn’t winnow the fools and cowards any quicker, that’s for sure!” Lady Catelyn concluded, stunning both her daughters and her husband.

“I obviously found myself such a treasure!” Ned Stark chuckled, before he addressed Sansa again, “And maybe it’s not as bad as we fear now, sweet daughter! We’re all tired, it’s been a long day. We should wait until the morrow, when the consequences are more evident, before we decide how to deal with this.” at that, he turned to Arya, “Meaning, _no one_ is making any hasty decisions … like running away?!”  
_As if she could!_ she huffed. _He was most likely already waiting behind that bloody wall-hanging. No, the passageway clearly was no longer an option, not without risking running into him …_  
But of course, her huff hadn’t gone unnoticed by her father, who raised his brows, “Promised?”  
“I swear, to the old gods and the new.” Arya mumbled sullenly.  
“Good.”

So, when lastly she was alone in her chamber again, alone with her thoughts – what she had wanted ever since the goddamn arena – Arya had to realise, _she had no idea what to do!_ Absolutely no clue how to handle this. _How to end this mess?_ Except, running them all through with Needle – _him_ and all these bloody schemers and scandalmongers. _Pity, that wasn’t an option,_ she thought. _Unless you’d kill them all. Baratheons, Lannisters and Tyrells all together,_ her mind suggested cynically. _Yeah, that definitively would do the trick!_ At least, if she were one of those Faceless Men, Syrio had told her about. But she wasn’t. _Unfortunately._ And even if she were, it wouldn’t help her with Ned and Sansa. _So, what was she supposed to do?_ That damn prince cornered her so skilfully, even flight was out of question. _At least for now…_

Getting mad at him again and determined, _he wouldn’t get to steal another night’s sleep,_ she hurried out of her gown – not caring some of its seams ripped in the process. _The damn thing deserved it!_ And dressed like that, just in her bodice and undergarment, she slipped under her covers, pulling them over her head, in hope it would shut _him_ out from her thoughts. Without success, though. Her mind immediately started tormenting her with hurtful expressions and reproaches, alternating in her sister’s voice, Ned’s or his. Making her soon feel utterly exposed and vulnerable again.

Until she no longer could bear it and cast off her covers, panting and trying to steady her racing heartbeat she sat in her bed. And only then she noticed the trunk next to her door. _Her treasures! Had they really returned them all?_ She was out of her bed instantly. They had. _Damn! They really wanted her to accept his courtship,_ she realised. But she wouldn’t. _Couldn’t!_

So, after sloppily unlacing the bodice, she slipped into a pair of breeches she had stolen from Bran, a way too big shirt of Robb and Jon’s old jerkin. Finally feeling her heartbeat calming, she grabbed Needle and her dagger and crawled back into her bed. _Better. Way better._ Although, it still took about an hour until exhaustion finally won the upper hand, she at least didn’t feel exposed and vulnerable, anymore. _And she never would again!_ she vowed to herself.

Though, of course, that sleeping attire aggravated Lady Catelyn, when she came to wake her the next morning. “You missed breakfast!” her mother announced, entering her chamber.  
“So?” Arya growled from under her covers, unmoving.  
Thus, her mother pulled them forcefully off and gasped at the sight, “Where have you been!?”  
“In bed, evidently.” Arya snorted sulky, sitting up.  
“You want me to believe you slept _like that_ for no reason?” Lady Catelyn countered alarmed.  
“No, I slept _like that,_ because I’m done with your stupid dresses. They caused the whole mess! Even Sansa says so.” Arya retorted, “ _This is me,_ and it’s time for you and everyone else to accept that!”  
Getting out of bed, Needle and her dagger in one hand, she grabbed her sword belt and sparring boots with the other and walked past her outraged mother, before Catelyn Tully could even riposte anything.

Yet, her defences started crumbling somewhat, as she walked into their dining room. Where her father’s face completely failed in concealing he had news for her. _Already!?_  
“The prince was here earlier,” he said, while she slipped into her boots.  
_Of course, that bull-headed oaf was!_ Arya rolled her eyes in annoyance.  
“with Ned Dayne.” her father continued, surprising her. _Huh?_  
“To apologise for last night!” Lady Stark clarified, entering the room behind her, “And to assure none of the rumours were true, except that the three of you had a disagreement, fuelled by too much wine.”    
“As I said!” Arya growled and sat down at the table across from Sansa, who pretended to pay no attention, busying herself with needlework.

“Yes,” their Lord Father sighed, “but that wasn’t all.”  
For an instant, Arya had hoped the prince would have come to his senses, withdrawing his proposal.  
Yet, instead her father reluctantly started, “Lord Dayne, he told me—”  
_“What!?”_ Arya blurted alarmed.  
“He told me, he were unable to continue his courtship under the current circumstances.” her father said, watching her reaction closely.  
And although, she should have felt relieved – and somehow actually was – she still felt tears well up, knowing, “He doesn’t want to see me again, that’s what he meant … Right?”  
“Oh, please!” Sansa snorted without even looking at her, “Wasn’t that what you wanted—”  
“ _It wasn’t!_ He was my friend. I just didn’t want to marry him …” Arya snapped at her sister, “You know that!”  
“Not again, girls!” their father reprimanded.   
And Lady Catelyn scolded, “Just because the prince and Lord Dayne managed to take the wind out of the gossipmongers’ sails, doesn’t mean they won’t come up with new slanders! We can’t fight them _and_ amongst ourselves! It weakens us, don’t you get that!?”  
“Of course, we do!” Sansa snapped bitterly, “But you can hardly expect me to accept within less than a day, that the man _I_ wanted to marry, out of all women chose _my baby sister!_ ”  
“And you can hardly expect me to actually marry _that fool!_ ” Arya snarled, with the same bitterness in her voice.

“About that …” their father sighed, clearly not happy to have to say it, “He invited you to go riding with him in the afternoon.”  
“Not gonna happen!” Arya announced, folding her arms demonstratively over her chest.  
“And… I’m to give you _this._ ” Lord Stark placed a scroll of parchment in front of her.  
“I don’t want it!” she rose from her seat, fuming, “Send it back!”  
“At least take a look at it!” her mother suggested.  
“No! I don’t want any stupid messages from him!” _Not anymore._  
“It’s not a message.” her father tried to placate, “I actually think you’d like it.”  
“Doubt it!” she grabbed some fruit and bread from the table and made for the door.  
“So, _this_ is your plan!?” Catelyn Tully snarled disapprovingly, “Ignoring and avoiding him, until he withdraws his proposal?”  
“ _Exactly!_ Even a stupid oaf like him should understand _that message!_ ”

Only, he turned out even more slow-witted than she had thought. Each morning he sent new invitations. To go hunting. Sailing. Riding again. Exploring the city. Practice Archery. Even to spar with him. And each of them came with another parchment. So, time and again she refused his invitations and instructed her father to return the unread scrolls. Still, _that stupid bull-headed prince_ didn’t get it. Causing Arya to confine herself to the Tower of the Hand for most of the time. _No need to give him a chance to head her off …_

Her sister on the other hand got all kind of invitations now, even quite unexpected ones. Already on the second day after the tourney, Myrcella invited Sansa to join her and Tommen for some lemoncakes. Although, the princess sent Arya a message, saying, she were welcome as well, it also made clear this invitation were mainly to assure Sansa her reputation weren’t in question and that she had other options than Margaery Tyrell. _Meaning, she should miss out on it._ Not that she was eager to have lemoncakes in the gardens, where all the gossipmongers could gape at her. _But it hurt._ Especially when the two siblings invited Sansa the next day again. This time to go riding with them and Trystane and Ned – logically excluding Arya once more. 

And although it was a relief to see her sister return smilingly afterwards, and even more so to hear, Ned wouldn’t hold a grudge against her – but just needed to keep his distance for a while – Arya couldn’t help but feel as if he and Myrcella were replacing her with Sansa. _It hurt._ So, green with envy, Arya was even more glad to see Sansa got invitations from plenty of suitors. And that she actually seemed to like some of them. Like Ser Lucas, a handsome Riverlands-knight in his twenties. Though, only a younger son of Lord Blackwood, he was the only one whose second invitation Sansa instantly accepted. Unfortunately though, that resulted in him joining her on her next ride with the royal siblings and their two Dornish friends. _Damn._

Thus, at last Arya had something in common with the viper – they both watched it jealously happen from afar. And although, Lady Margaery quickly reacted, inviting Sansa to join her and Joffrey on their rides and strolls – presenting her with several eligible bachelors and even suggesting her own brother Willas, the heir to Highgarden – Sansa never returned smiling from any of them. Proving, the end of her friendship with Margaery was foreseeable now. _At least some good news!_

Nonetheless, that didn’t help Arya. She apparently had lost all her southern friends within one single day. Though, while Ned’s motivation for avoiding her was clear as day, guessing Myrcella’s and Tommen’s motive proved slightly trickier. At first Arya feared, they were outright mad at her for rejecting their brother. _Of course, they’re pissed, stupid!_ she scolded herself, _what did you expect!? He’s their brother!_ But then she realised, they still were friends with Ned – who had tried to ‘steal’ her from their brother. _Shouldn’t they be just as mad at him, then!?_ Consequently, it wasn’t before long until Arya wondered, if Myrcella and Tommen maybe weren’t solely avoiding her because they were angry with her. If this maybe also was _his_ doing. _Another trick he played on her?_ And the longer she thought about it, the more sense it seemed to make. _He was preying on her! Isolating her like a lame sheep from its flock. Like the bloody lion he obviously thought himself!_ But of course that only fuelled her raging anger. _She was no damn stupid sheep, he could prey on! She was a wolf, and isolating and cornering her made her only more vicious._

So, unwilling to see _him_ or any of these gossipmongers and schemers, Arya hadn’t left the Hand’s Tower for three days. And had spent most of her time practicing sword-fighting in her chamber and on the staircases – much to her mother’s chagrin. Until she got an idea and instructed Harwin to tell their stable boys, they should inform her as soon as the crown prince would return from his rides. So, from the fourth day on, she went riding with Harwin as soon as she was certain, _he_ wouldn’t be out there somewhere. Still, she spent too much time trapped in the Tower of the Hand and like any caged wolf, she was getting restless. And aggressive.

Especially upon realising, _he just wasn’t giving up!_ On the contrary. Alongside invitations and scrolls, he soon started sending gifts. First, a small and sealed jewellery box. _Undoubtedly, his damn necklace!_ Fuming, Arya grabbed the box and instructed Desmond, who stood guard, to take it straight back to _him._ Yet, that damn fool kept sending more. A sword belt, perfectly fitted for her size. Just as the breeches, shirt and doublet the following day. After that, it was a Dothraki bow and quiver full of arrows and lastly even a Valyrian steel dagger.  

Which made Sansa seek her out in her chamber, glaring at her, “You don’t deserve him!”  
“I couldn’t care any less!” Arya snorted.  
“Then you’re stupid!” Sansa hissed, “He finds the perfect gifts for you. Which seems a nigh impossible task, if you ask me, but he manages! And all you do is insult him—”  
“Well, obviously I’m not venal!” Arya countered unimpressed.  
“He’s not bribing you, you idiot!” Sansa hissed, “He’s wooing you! Since, for whatever reason he actually seems to like you—”  
_“Doesn’t matter!”_  
“You’re the luckiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms, and you completely fail to see it. It’ll be your loss, when he withdraws his proposal!” Sansa shot back, retiring to her chamber.  
“I can’t wait for that to happen!” Arya called angrily after her, “At least, then I can finally go home!” slamming her door shut.

However, seeing the next day’s gift – ink, quill and parchment – made her throw it all fumingly out of the window. _Did he think her that stupid? To fall for the same trick twice?_ She stomped wordlessly from the room, locking herself up in her chamber. _To practice. Finding another two dozen ways to kill him._

Yet, she hadn’t even been halfway through that task, when she suddenly heard her name, “Arya Stark!” from outside, down in the yard, “I deemed you for many things, but never a coward! I guess I was wrong!” _he_ shouted, catching her off-guard. _What the fuck!?_ “I know you can hear me! And you heard right, you’re a coward, Arya Stark!” _Seven hells!_  
Fuming, she unlocked her door and stormed down the stairs and out into the yard. And before Alyn and Tom could stop her, Needle was pointing at his throat.  
“Call me a coward again, and I’ll gut you!” she threatened.  
“As I thought! You’d rather kill me than admit you like me …” he scoffed, glaring at her, “If that’s not craven, then I don’t know what is!” and stepped even closer towards her. _Seven hells!_  
“Draw your damn sword, princeling!” she snarled, scowling back at him. Yet, carefully avoided cutting his skin.

“Arya Stark!” this time it was her mother, shrieking, “Have you lost your mind now!?” and ordering the dumbstruck Alyn, “Get the Hand! NOW!”  
As Baratheon guards came running, unsheathing their swords, they demanded, “Step away from the prince, girl!”  
Though, he ordered, “Stay out if this! She won’t hurt me.”  
While four more Stark guards entered the yard, their hands on their swords’ hilts.  
“Your grace, please step away from her!” one of the Baratheon men pleaded.  
But the prince only shouted, “I said, stay out of this!” before he challenged her, “I accept, Arya. But if I win, you’ll admit you like me just as much as I like you!”

“ _Over my dead body!_ Or yours in that case—” she yelled.  
Yet, right then her father wrenched Needle from her grip, snarling, “No one’s admitting anything over no one’s dead body!” He grabbed her arm, firmer than ever before, and pulled her back from the prince. Addressing him, “Your grace, I understand you’re upset, but this's not the way!” Ned Stark didn’t even wait for a reply and dragged the still fuming Arya ungently away, hissing, “You’re gonna be the death of me, girl!”  
And her Lady Mother came running, “What in the gods’ names were you thinking!? These guards could’ve killed you!”  
“Rubbish, they’re too slow!” Arya snorted.  
“There’s nothing to boast about, _child!_ ” her father snapped.  
But Arya claimed angrily, “It ain’t boasting when true!”

They dragged her to her father’s solar, where Lady Catelyn quickly let her husband in on the details.  
Shaking his head in disbelief, Lord Stark turned to their daughter, “This rage of yours … you always had a quick temper … but _this,_ this unreasonable, reckless fury, it has to stop!”  
“But he started it!” Arya snapped, “He called me a coward!”  
“Yes, to lure you out!” her father countered, “And you fell for the trap!” _Seven hells!_ “Arya, what is this with you and him?” Ned Stark tried again, “Even I can tell there’s more to it than you’re telling us! What are you hiding?”  
Although, turning beet-red under her parents’ stares, she remained silent.  
“You’re slighting him again and again! Yet, he still hasn’t withdrawn his proposal. No sane man would do that!” Eddard Stark continued.  
“Well, that’s because—”   
“Arya, he’s _not_ stupid! Gendry’s one of the smartest men I know. So, why does he tolerate your insults?” her father said, clearly hoping to get her to talk. Without success, though.  
“Ned, this’s pointless!” Lady Catelyn stated, before addressing Arya, “You don’t want to be treated like a child, then I suggest you start acting like the grown woman you claim to be!”  
And of course, her Lord Father sided with her Lady Mother. _As always._ Confining Arya to the Tower of the Hand, until she would tell them what was going on. _But she couldn’t. They wouldn’t understand! Would make h_

So, unable to give them what they demanded, Arya returned to her room to continue her practice. However, she had only killed him five more times, when her sister barged into her chamber, glaring at her.  
“What the hells is wrong with you!? Are you so eager to lose your head?” Sansa hissed.  
She had been riding with Myrcella and the others again, and the first thing they had heard upon their return at the stables where ambiguous rumours. That either her insane baby sister would have attacked the crown prince, just for passing by the Tower of the Hand. Or that he would have tried to win her hand by duelling her, nearly dying in that attempt.  
“If you’re so intent to ruin yourself, _fine!_ ” Sansa snarled, “But why do you have to ruin him, too!? Because of you, people start saying he were unfit to rule!”  
“People!? More like Margaery and Joffrey!” Arya retorted unimpressed, “After all, that'd be her new chance to become queen …”  
“Right, why’d you care!?” Sansa scoffed, “You won’t have a head anymore then, to see what Joffrey’s rule will look like!” and stormed from Arya’s chamber, slamming the door behind her.

But her sister wasn’t her only visitor that day. About an hour later, Cayn knocked on her door, informing her, the princess would want to see her.  
“I want to apologise for having neglected our friendship this past fortnight.” Myrcella said, entering her chamber, “I meant no disrespect. It’s just, Tommen and I wanted to assure Ned, our respect and love for him hasn’t changed. And we thought it a good opportunity to show your sister we hold great respect of her as well.”  
_So your damn big brother could calmly annoy the hells out me!_ Arya thought, but refrained from lashing out at the princess now as well. Hoping, she could at least mend their friendship, she quietly said, “I know, your grace.” before she sighed and added, “But that’s not why you’re here …”  
“Straight forward as always.” Myrcella smiled, “And you’re right! I came to vouch for my brother. I know, what he did this afternoon was outright idiotic. And what can I say, it’s the Baratheon temper! Nevertheless, I think he has reason to be disgruntled. He knows, you were overwhelmed and shocked at the tourney … but how you treat him since, rejecting each of his attempts to regain your trust, it’s not fair, Arya!”

Although, Myrcella was a year younger, Arya felt like a naughty child next to the calm and reasonable princess.  
Biting sheepishly her lower lip, she quietly blurted, “He shouldn’t have lied to me!”  
“I think we can agree, he should’ve handled things a bit differently. But the same goes for Ned …” the princess said, “My brother’s a good man, Arya! And he truly loves you—” stunning her with that last statement.  
“He told you that!?” Arya asked awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.  
“Doesn’t have to! He’s my brother …” Myrcella chuckled quietly, before she got serious again, “I’m not telling you to marry him, Arya. All I’m asking is that you talk to him, he deserves that much …” the younger woman reasoned and stepped to Arya’s desk, pulling several scrolls rolled up around another from her long sleeves, “And take a look at these!” Myrcella pleaded, unrolling them, “Hear him out! Just once. That’s all I ask of you, Arya.”

Arya watched the princess leave her chamber, before her glance wandered to the parchments. Sighing sullenly, she stepped to her desk. _Let’s get this over with …_ Yet, her eyes went wide instantly. _An armour design. For a woman. Stark armour. For her!_ Stunned and feeling her ears redden and buzz, her fingers trailed over the detailed wolf-shaped ornaments, reading, “I am sorry for last night.” at the bottom of the parchment.

And it took her a moment to overcome her state of astonishment, before curiosity made her lift the parchment to see the one underneath. Another armour design with a wolf’s head on the breastplate, identical with the necklace. And the note at the bottom said, “No matter which design, I need my lady’s measurements.” “When are you coming by at the shop?” said the third design parchment. And the fourth, “Do I have to bribe your seamstress? I will!” _Unbelievable._ She shook her head over his … _bull-headed-ness._ And although, she felt a smile growing on her face, she was glad, she hadn’t seen these drawings before. Or else she would have hurt him in the yard. _Just for his goddamn ability to make her smile._ Even when she didn’t want to. When she was entirely mad at him. _Stupid bull-headed prince._

The rest of the parchments were drawings of details like gorgets, shoulder plates, arm plates and gauntlets. Each with small teasing notes at the end, like “I am still waiting.” or, “Does my lady not recall the way? I could show you.” and lastly, “I do not want to repeat myself. You know what do to with the ink and quill and parchment. Use it!” _Seven hells! Why couldn’t he just give up? Like any normal person would …_ Arya sighed, entirely astonished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARYA
> 
> So, the only curse in this chapter was the irrational Arya. And why did I make Arya react this extremely? Well, because she has a quick temper and can hold a grudge quite a while, as you see in canon (her list!). 
> 
> And on the other side, come on, what is being pissed at the person one loves for two weeks when one is barely 17 years old, with ones' hormones going crazy. One can hardly call that holding a grudge forever! It’s normal… it happens. 
> 
> Especially in such an extreme situation. Gendry proposing in front of their entire world, without giving her a warning in advance. Of course, she is fuming and wants to get back at him.
> 
> And since Arya refers to herself as a wolf, I thought it fitting to let her act like one now. She is lashing out at anyone that comes too close to her in this chapter. Just like a wild wolf would do if it were trapped, unable to escape. And that is how she feels in this situation. Backed against a wall, no way to escape, cornered from all sides (Gendry, Ned, Sansa, Cat, Eddard, Margaery/Joffrey, the gossipmongers). 
> 
> So, she can’t differentiate between friend and foe within the two weeks after the tourney. She isn’t thinking straight in this short time. She is in her little bubble of fury (in complete denial, to cope with it). And aside from Sansa’s pain and Ned’s she doesn’t notice much of other people’s struggles. 
> 
> Especially Gendry’s struggling she doesn’t want to see, because that would make her stop hating him. And she WANTS to hate him in this chapter, because that is easier to handle for her. That’s also why she refuses to use his name since the tourney, to distance herself from him, to not have to think about (maybe hurting) his feelings. 
> 
> Also, she doesn’t fully understand, that her father is reminded of Lyanna now, fearing Arya might run away - alone or with Ned/Gendry. Or doing something else stupid. Or that Gendry might do something idiotic like kidnapping her. Her father always made sure, Arya knew she has some similarities with Lyanna, but always told her, she was Arya, not Lyanna. 
> 
> So, Arya doesn’t get, that the events from the past and present are getting mixed up in Ned Stark’s panicking and traumatized mind. That the old wolf isn’t thinking straight either. Making him push Arya into trying to get her to talk, even though she isn’t ready to admit her secret relationship and feelings for Gendry to her father, yet.
> 
> But most importantly, the tourney was Arya’s crisis turning point. In this chapter her emancipation from her family/the classic female role takes roots. 
> 
> People had tried to push her into the classic role of a noblewoman, ignoring that she doesn’t fit into that mould. They had made her bend and bend, and now Arya can’t bend much further. She has two options now, either let herself break or snap and break the mould. So she chooses to break the mould out of survival instinct/mode. 
> 
> Starting by refusing to wear dresses and attending court events any longer. No matter the consequences (her mother getting pissed, her parents confining her to the tower, the gossipmongers seeing their suspicions, that something is wrong with her confirmed). And she will start now to choose/find her own path.
> 
> GENDRY & SANSA (check the first few comments)


	14. The Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddard asks Gendry to stop sending gifts and invitations for a while - to give Arya space to calm down. Yet, after having seen his armour designs for her, she's quite disappointed when she doesn't get another one the next day. Which instantly arouses the other Starks' suspicion. So, Arya flees breakfast and soon her feet develop a will of their own, making her go exploring again ... and it's not just King's Landing this time.

After seeing his gorgeous armour designs and annoying little notes, Arya had unsurprisingly spent another night tossing and turning, brooding over _him._ But the worst had been, that her anger faded away. Well, most of it. She still felt cornered by him, and hated it. Him on the other hand, _she wasn’t sure if she still hated him …_ she couldn’t tell.

And it got worse. When she entered the dining hall the next morning, to see there wasn’t another scroll waiting for her – thanks to her father, who apparently had asked him to refrain from sending further gifts and invitations – no one was more stunned than Arya herself, when instead of the expected triumph a slight disappointment flashed over her face. Which logically made her parents raise their brows.  
“Don’t tell me, you changed your mind!?” Sansa scoffed, rolling her eyes.  
“Of course not!” Arya growled, “I’m just surprised, he actually does what he’s told!”  
But evidently they didn’t buy it, none of them. So, Arya returned quickly to her chamber. _To finally finish the dozen. And to add another …_

However, practicing didn’t help to settle her ambiguous thoughts about him. Thus, without even having an explanation for herself, Arya pulled Theon’s old hooded cloak from her trunk of treasures and relocated her sword-fighting to the staircases, using the cloak to deflect the blows of her imaginary opponents. Yet, as soon as her father had left his solar and Heward his post right outside, Arya slipped behind the wall-hanging. Descending down the ladders as swift and quiet as she could, she snuck to the dragon skull vault, to the door leading to the tunnels. Since, with all the gossipmongers at the palace and she being confined to the Hand’s Tower, Flea Bottom was just a safer place for her to roam about, she told herself and ignored the little voice in her head, which called her a _Liar!_ then.

At first, she had been somewhat unsure if she would remember the right way, but quickly came to realise, her memory of _that night with him_ was still so vivid, she could almost see him walking in front of her. She recalled his every word. Where she had made him laugh. Where he had called her ‘a nosy one’ and the whole embarrassing conversation about whores had started. Making her realise, _he never answered the question._ And that she still wanted to know. _Stupid!_ she scolded herself, _What’s it to you, if he likes whores or not?_

Yet, she spent the rest of the way in the tunnels wondering about it. _Theon went constantly to see Ros …_ And even Robb and Jon had visited the pretty redhead at least once. _And why not? No one could hold it against them, they weren’t married or betrothed … and neither is he! So, why wouldn’t he!? Maybe it was just another lie? Probably! But Ned didn’t like whores, either. True, but Ned was Ned, almost as quick to blushing as Sansa._ Him on the other hand, _he didn’t blush easily._ He hadn’t even blinked when she had asked him. _So, it probably was a lie ..._ she concluded, stepping out of the cave, her hood pulled deep into her face and her hands on Needle and her dagger.

And as before in the tunnels, her memories of him led her the way through the downtrodden alleys. Only now also the streets with the pigsties and stables were over-crowded. _So many children. Orphans mostly,_ Arya guessed – going by their dirty, ragged clothes and hungry eyes, that followed her. Undoubtedly evaluating, if she was hiding anything of value underneath her cloak. And she did. After fleeing breakfast rather hastily, she had thought of taking some silver this time. After all, she was heading straight to the tavern …

However, when she stood outside of it, she hesitated, _Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea!? What if they recognised her? What if they were angry with her? For refusing his garland? Or for driving a wedge between their friends? Even though, the two idiots did that themselves ... without giving her a warning!_ But Hot Pie and Lommy didn’t know that. _Damn._ So, ultimately Arya decided to rather buy her pie on the Street of Flour, which _he_ had told her was just a little further up the hill.

So, after purchasing some pie there – which hadn’t even come close to Hot Pie’s – she wandered southwest, pretending she wouldn’t know where her feet led her. _Don’t!_ her mind warned her, _He’ll get it all wrong!_ But her feet just wouldn’t listen, leading her downhill from the Street of Flour to the Street of the Sisters and past the Guildhall of the Alchemists, right up the Street of Steel. _What do you want there!?_ her mind questioned, but she didn’t know. 

Somehow she had hoped she would know when she got there. Which she eventually did, but still she had no clue what she was doing there. _Damn._ She stood outside the shop, chewing her lower lip, her knuckles white from tightly gripping Needle’s hilt, and cursed herself, _What’re you waiting for? For him to discover you!?_  She watched customers and deliveries come and go, yet, she was unable to decide to either leave or enter. _Bloody hells._

Though, of course her presence didn’t go unnoticed forever. Eventually, an apprentice doing a delivery got suspicious to see her still there upon his return – unmoving, staring at the shop’s entrance, in her ill-fitting clothes, with Needle’s scabbard showing through the cloth of her dirty cloak.  
“ _You,_ gutter rat, get lost! You’re shooing away our customers!” he barked at her, “There’s nothing here to steal for you!” the lad warned, ripping her from her thoughts.  
And she turned on her heel at once. _It was for the best._ Yet, only four steps later she stopped and turned back to the boy. _What're you doing? Leave!_ her mind protested.  
But instead she blurted, “Can I see him?” puzzling herself even more than the boy.  
_“Who!?”_ he demanded confused.  
“Gendry.” _Great, you’re really doing it!_  
“There’s no one here by that name!” the boy lied and even though, he seemed a couple years younger than her, he was already taller and stepped towards her, snarling unafraid, “And now fuck off! Before I call the City Watch—”  
Arya removed her hood at that, perplexing him, he clearly had mistaken her for a boy. Yet, he didn't recognise her.  
Unlike his master, who had come to see with whom his apprentice was arguing, “My lady?!” Master Mott uttered seemingly flabbergasted over her attire. Though, quickly regained his wits and invited her in, apologising for his apprentice’s rude behaviour.

Leaving Arya no other choice now but to follow them inside. _He’d know she was here now, anyway,_ she argued with herself, while she absently assured, the apprentice boy wouldn’t have done anything wrong. Before she eventually repeated her question, silently hoping they would tell her ‘no’ or that he weren’t here. But of course he was. And thus she crossed the back yard to the stone barn once more. Though, alone this time. _This was embarrassing enough,_ she didn’t need the maid or the apprentice to watch it from up close.

Nevertheless, she felt their eyes on her – Master Mott’s, the lad’s and Elinor’s. But theirs weren’t the ones she dreaded. Dreaded so much, her feet refused to go any step further when she reached the entrance to the stone barn. And yet, her eyes found him instantly, nailing themselves to his bare back. _And now what, you damn genius!?_ she scoffed at herself. Clenching her fists over her own stupidity, she worked her lower lip once more – feeling her anger boil up again. Though, not at him, but at herself this time. _Damn._ Huffing and kicking some dirt with her feet, she rolled her eyes in frustration and stared at the well next to the barn – to avoid the benumbing sight of his muscles moving under his skin. Hoping for a flash of wit, she took a deep breath, but her brain refused to provide one. _This was a bad idea. You should leave!_

But it was too late. Once she glanced back into the forge, her eyes met his. _Fuck._ Her instincts took over, telling her to _run!_ And her feet obeyed.  
“ Arya, no! Wait!” he called after her, but she couldn’t and he shouted, “Mervyn, stop her!”  
And the apprentice reacted swiftly, slamming the shop's backdoor almost into her face. Trapping her in the yard, with him. _Bloody hells!_ She hit her fist outraged against the wood. Though, before she could curse the lad behind, he was there and grabbed her arm, spinning her around. _Damn._  
“Stay!” he pleaded, trapping her between the locked door and himself.

She couldn’t ... she couldn’t even hold his gaze. Yet, hadn't much of a choice, his bare chest was even worse to look at, making her face flush bright red. Though, the worst was his dizzying scent – smoke, iron and sweat – it made her jaw drop somewhat and her lips feel dry. _What the hells!?_ She swallowed visibly and wet her lips, trying to get her flustered mind under control.  
“What're you doing here?” he asked quietly, studying her.  
“Um …” she searched her mind for an answer, “Um, well, you said I should come after the tourney …” was all she could come up with.  
_It made no sense._ Not even to herself, just a day ago she had threatened to kill him.  
Yet, he chuckled, “I did.” and his body clearly relaxed, “So, you chose a design?”

“That’s not why I’m here!” she blurted sheepishly, feeling her cheeks and ears turn a darker shade of red.  
“I don’t mind, if you are.” he assured, “You came! That’s what matters.” _And here we go, you bloody fool!_  
“I shouldn’t … I should leave.” she murmured apologetic, trying to wriggle herself free.  
“No, Arya. Please, stay!” he implored again, arguing, “I promised you armour and I want to keep that promise!”  
“No, it’s a bad idea …” she objected, “I couldn’t … you shouldn’t—”    
“Maybe. Probably!” he countered, insisting, “But I’m stupid and bull-headed, remember?” he grinned, causing her to stare at him incredulously.

“But it won—” she tried to object again.  
“ _Don’t!_ Not here.” he cut her off and blinked nervously, “Can’t we just … you know, pretend the damn tourney never happened? Just while we're here!? You could sit with me again … in silence or we talk, just normal stuff, though. But stay! Just a little while, please …” dumbfounding her even more, so she could only nod. But it was enough to make him exhale in relief, “Then let me show you something!”  
He let his hand slide down her arm to take her hand in his and led her into the stone barn, ignoring the curious looks they got from the others.

“You already started!?” Arya realised amazed at his workplace, seeing the small sized shoulder plates and arm plates laying there.  
“Well, I warned you about the seamstress …” he teased clearly abashed, “But you should still let Elinor take your measurements, at least if you want a proper fitting armour. You see, dress measurements aren’t exactly what I need for this …” he explained, educing a small smile from her. _And Sansa thought her the incorrigible one._ “You like it?” he studied her, and she could still only nod. “Good. Then, when shall we do the measurements? Now or rather some other day.” he asked, biting his lip.  
“Um, I guess now’s as good as any time?” Arya stated more questioningly than matter-of-factly.  
But it was reassuring enough for him to lead her straight back to the shop.

And Master Mott generously offered her his private dining room in the upper storey for the measuring. Where Elinor then quickly went to work, asking Arya to remove her ill-fitting men's clothes, so they wouldn't falsify her measurements. It wasn't a big deal for her, to stand there in front of the maid in just her undergarments, not much of a difference to a seamstress' measuring.  
Well, it was until of a sudden, “I’m glad you came, m’lady!" slipped from Elinor's mouth, "He’s been miserable since the tourney, I’ve never seen him like that … all sullen ’n’ moody.” baffling Arya. _Was there no one left without an opinion about her and him now!?_  
And the servant girl just babbled on, mistaking her silence for approval, she told Arya, she would have seen her on the terrace in the arena and how beautiful she would have been there. And then quickly assured she would always be beautiful, even in men's clothes. But in that white gown at the tourney especially, and therefore it wouldn't have come as a surprise to her once Gendry had chosen her instead of some other pretty lady there, the young woman claimed.  
"I ripped its seams the same night!" Arya burst out, not knowing how else to shut Elinor up without getting nasty.

“I could fix it for you!” the girl offered, “I’m a good seamstress, m’lady. I make the pants and padded jacks for the armours, they’re all quite fancy.” she assured, discomfiting Arya once more.  
Until she got an idea, “How about you fix it for yourself?” she suggested.  
“Beg pardon, m’lady!?” the maid retorted confused.  
“The dress. It’s yours, if you want, Elinor.”  
“M’lady’s jesting?” the girl blurted shocked.  
“No, I hate it, I was already thinking of burning it …” Arya proclaimed, “actually, you can have them all! All those damn tourney gowns. Well, apart from the green one. That I ruined beyond repair, but it was ridiculous, anyway!” perplexing the girl for good.  
“M’lady, I could never—” she stammered.  
“Sure, you can!” Arya insisted determined, “Wear them, sell them, do with them whatever you like … I just want them gone!”  
“ _Why,_ m’lady?”  
“I’m done with dresses. And with these ones in particular!” Arya declared dismissively, putting her clothes back on.

“What did you do to poor Elinor?” Gendry entered the room frowning, once the maid handed him the measurements and wordlessly pushed past him.  
“Nothing!” Arya snorted easygoing, “I’m just giving her some of my dresses.”  
Causing him to let out a guffaw, “You’re insane—”  
_“Why!?”_ she snapped, “I hate them, she loves them. So, instead of laughing at me, you could help me get them here tomorrow!”  
“I would!” he placated quickly. _But?_ “But, um…” he explained after a sigh, “I’m leaving for Storm’s End in the morning, for Edric’s nameday, you know.” _Oh._ “I wanted you to come with me! Um, I mean, I wanted to ask you to come …” he burst out sheepishly, unable to look at her. _Oh._ “Thought you’d like to get out of here for a while, seeing Edric again and Brienne … " he continued quietly, "Renly and Loras are coming, too, you know. Only Ned declined … for the obvious reasons.” He cornered them both in awkward silence, and made it even worse by eventually stammering, "I mean, you could still come, if you like … I could talk to your—" until one glance at her made him stop mid-sentence.  
Before the tourney, Arya would have loved the idea and would have begged her father to let her go. _Even if that would've meant having Sansa and their Lady Mother breathe down her neck all day long._ Now, she was just speechless.  
“But I’ll have someone pick up your dresses in the morrow …” he offered, trying to end the increasing awkwardness. Yet, again she only nodded and bit her lip.

“I guess, you can roam the keep in peace for the next fortnight then, hmm?” he teased eventually to get her to talk again.  
“Doubt it!” she snorted, “The gossipmongers are still here and I’m confined to the Hand’s Tower, anyway.”  
“Doesn’t seem to stop you!” he chuckled.  
“Of course not.” she scoffed, regaining her wits.  
“Good, since I’d hoped you’d keep an eye on Balerion for me!” he claimed, “Tommen’s looking after him and there’s this new scullion, greasing his paws with all kind of good stuff, but I think he misses fooling around with you …”  
“I will!” she assured quickly, “I wanted to find him anyway, after … coming here.”  
“Check the kitchens, that bloody scullion’s literally fattening him like a pig!” Gendry growled playfully and stepped closer, "Come on, let's get back down, before my forge cools down for good!" and took her hand again.

But she was fine with that. What happened at the tourney and since, evidently hadn’t changed the fact, that she liked holding his hand. _A lot._ And thanks to that new scullion, they even had a neutral talking point. Plotting together how they could get back at the lad, who tried to steal their favourite tomcat’s affection. But also, since she no longer wore stupid dresses, she could do now what she had done in Winterfell with Mikken. Helping out a little. At first she only handed him tongs and tools and put them back. But when he eventually asked her to blow the bellows, she took her sword-belt off without hesitation.  
And Gendry had to admit, “You weren’t lying! You do know your ways around in a forge.” he sounded impressed.  
“Of course!” she snorted confidently, “You’re not the only one who chose a forge for a hideout.” _He was just never dragged away from his._

“I could talk to Mott if you like, so you could come here while I’m gone.” he offered, surprising her once more.  
“But who’d keep that cat-stealing scullion at bay, then? Don’t you think I should use my horrifying reputation to shoo him away while it lasts?” she quickly teased, so she wouldn’t have to think about if she liked him going away or not.  
“By threatening to gut him like the crown prince, huh?” Gendry chuckled.  
“Yeah, and then roast him, to fatten Balerion with his own meat …” she japed, grinning mischievously.  
“I knew you’re the right woman for the task!” Gendry snorted with laughter.

But of a sudden, he stopped laughing and studied her for a moment, he even put the arm plate, he was working on, aside. Scaring her a little. _What was he up to now?_  
“Do you know how a bodkin-point’s made?” he asked roguishly.  
“Yeah?” it was more of a question than an answer, since she wasn’t sure where this was going.  
“Ever made one?” he asked, his eyes glinting with mischief.  
“No…” she growled. _Was he suggesting—_  
“Wanna make one?” he grinned. _Was he serious?_ “Come on, give it a try!” he encouraged her, “I show you once, and then you go—”  
_“Why?”_ she inquired, still wary.  
“You watched me work long enough, time to turn the tables!” he challenged and grabbed a steel bar, shoving it into the embers.  
As soon as the end glowed bright yellow, he went to work on it. Flattening its end, like a fish tale. Putting the bar back into the embers and pulling it out again. Rolling the end to form the socket. Back into the embers. Putting the socket off. Placing the rest of the bar back into the embers. While he shaped the point on the other end of the socket. Cooling it in a bucket of water, before he handed it to her.  
“Your turn!” he grinned.

It had gone so quick, she hadn’t even had time to make up her mind. And he didn’t leave her any. He pulled her towards him and positioned her in front of him, handing her one of the lighter hammers.  
“Go ahead!”  
But she couldn’t. Not with him watching. Feeling a bright-red blush creep up her neck, she scowled at him, “Turn around!”  
“I can’t do that, Mott would kill me!” he laughed.  
“Then I’m not doing it.” she huffed, about to put the hammer down.  
But his hand enclosed around hers, “Come on, give it a try! I know you can do it.” he encouraged her calmly, “Just think of your mother’s face, if she could see you now!”  
“Fine.” she huffed annoyed, “But you need to step away! I need space, to get to the anvil and all …”

Although, he did as she asked, stepping away a few feet, she still hesitated, “Mother isn’t working,” she growled, “I’m going with my septa.” before she pulled the steel bar from the embers, flattening it.  
“Why your septa?” he asked, entirely focussed on her hands.  
“Because that old spinster always scolded me for my crooked stitches, saying I’d have the hands of a blacksmith!”  
“These little things!?” he laughed out loud, making her glare at him.  
“Eyes on your work, my lady!” he scolded grinningly, fuelling her anger.  
But when she had to roll the socket, she quickly realised, she needed to focus and bit her lower lip, whereas he stepped closer again to lead her through the rest of the process.

In the end, she had to heat the metal three times more often than him, and the result naturally hadn’t been as straight and even as his, but he assured, it were fine enough.  
“Better than my first one!” he claimed, though, she doubted that.  
Still, she grinned satisfied at the arrowhead in her hand, “Straighter than any of my stitches, that’s for sure!” she laughed.  
And he joined in, “Well, it seems your septa was right after all, huh?”  
Causing her to shove him, just because she felt like it, “You’re stupid!”  
He caught her wrist and pulled her closer, “So are you! Sometimes.” he teased, smiling at her, “I’m proud of you!”  
“That makes two of us.” she smirked, eyeing her work again, “I’m gonna keep this!”  
“To rub your septa’s nose in it?” he chuckled.  
“Damn, right!” _At least she would if she’d ever get back home. Damn, why was she thinking of home now!?_

Seeing something was casting a cloud over her mood, he got serious again, “I guess, I should be heading back to the keep soon.”  
“Why?” she furrowed he brow, unwilling to go back there.  
“There’s a Small Council meeting before supper.” he explained, before sighing, “And apparently my mother wants to have a word with me before I leave.” making her nod sullenly. “Are you coming back with me?” he asked sheepishly.  
“Not through the main gates …” she growled.  
“The tunnels it is then!” he chuckled, “Just give me a moment, I’m right back.” and left her admiring the first parts of her very own armour in peace.  
_He was insane. Undoubtedly._ But still, she loved it. _This was the best gift since Needle and her stallion. And she couldn’t wait to see it completed. Bran and Rickon would go green with envy! And Robb, too. His all grown-up serious lord-façade would stagger for at least a flash. Whereas Theon would mock her, not knowing how else to cope with the envy. Only Jon wouldn’t begrudge her. But chances to show him were even fainter than showing the others. It wasn’t fair! First, Jon at the Wall, where she couldn’t follow. And now this! Why would she have to choose between Winterfell, her brothers and—_

“Are you ready?” Gendry questioned quietly, stepping behind her. _No._ Yet, she nodded, trying to bury the gloomy thoughts somewhere in the depths of her mind, as he pulled her hood up. “Then let’s go!” he took her hand once more.  
And led her out of the stone barn, through the shop onto the streets and down the hill. Though, not the way she had come.  
“Where are we going!?” she asked frowning.  
“Well, since you obviously recall the Flea Bottom route better than I might like,” he winked at her and gently squeezed her hand, “I thought, you’d want to explore some other tunnels now. Also, this way’s shorter.” and dragged her along towards the harbour.

“Will you be going by ship?” she asked, seeing the many vessels at the harbour right outside the city walls.  
“No, we prefer riding.” Gendry explained, “The walls on a ship have ears, just like in the keep.”  
“You mean, because of Renly and Loras?” she questioned.  
“No, not because of that.” he chuckled, “It’s my mother. She hates me visiting Storm’s End. Because of Edric.”  
“What’s her problem?” Arya snorted, “He isn’t at court, doesn’t threaten your claim—”   
“And there you’re wrong!” he pulled her closer, whispering, “You understand, Renly won’t sire any heirs, right? So, normally my father would be his heir.”  
“Meaning you.”  
“Yeah. But like my father I’d make someone else Lord over the Stormlands.” Gendry went on.  
“And she wants you to choose Joffrey?"  
“No, Tommen.”  
Puzzling her, “But Joffrey—”  
“Our uncle Jaime has no intentions to become Lord of the Rock and my grandfather hates Tyrion.” he clarified, “So, logically Mother wants him to name Joffrey his heir.”

“I thought Tywin Lannister were the smartest man in Westeros?” she countered frowning.  
“He is!” Gendry chuckled, “That’s why he named Tommen. But Mother and Joffrey don’t know, yet. So, I must swear you to secrecy about that!”  
“I won’t tell, stupid!” she promised, concluding, “And Renly will name Edric?”  
“Try past tense!” he grinned, “Happened right after Renly came of age.”  
“But what’re you gonna do with Joffrey then?”  
“That’s the question.” Gendry sighed, before teasing, “I heard the Wall’s a nice cosy place …”  
“NO!” Arya objected outraged, “Jon and Uncle Benjen are there!”  
“I was just kidding …” he nudged her shoulder gently.  
“You better, or I’ll have to kill your brother to save _mine!_ ” she growled.  
“Don’t worry!” Gendry appeased, “Happens I have another uncle with a keep and no heir to it.”  
“Stannis?” she questioned frowning and he nodded.  
“At least Dragonstone’s close enough to keep an eye on him.”  
“But your cousin Shireen—” Arya objected.  
“Will be the Lady of Storm’s End.” Gendry winked.  
“She and Edric?” Arya asked incredulous.  
“Yap, betrothed since almost a year.” he smiled.

“You worked it out quite neatly, haven’t you!?” she studied him somewhat impressed.  
“Well, I had a little help on that from Uncle Tyrion …”  he nudged her shoulder again.  
“He helped you to replace himself as heir to the Rock?” Arya asked disbelieving.  
“I’m gonna need a Hand one day!” Gendry grinned, before he realised what he just implied, “I meant no offense against your father—”  
“He hates it!” she appeased, “He only agreed because your father's his friend.”  
“That much was obvious from the start …” he confirmed, “I mean, he’s a smart and considerate man and when the day comes I’d like to offer him a position on my—”  
_“Don’t!”_ Arya blurted alarmed, before she quietly added, “Let him go home …” _Us._  
And the way he studied her at that, sighing and silently nodding, he seemed to understand what she had meant.

“It’s this way!” he said, after they had walked the rest of the way to the Fishmonger’s Square in silence. He pulled her into a small alley, going left and then right, before he led her down some steps and opened a narrow cellar door. Inside, Gendry took a torch from the wall and led her down another two staircases and through four storage rooms, until at the end of the last one a narrow black tunnel started; barred by an iron gate about seven feet deep into the tunnel. There, Gendry reached through the bars and pulled a key out from behind a protruding brick in the wall.  
“So, this's your usual way to the forge?” Arya asked, just to finally break the silence, once he opened the gate.  
“Yeah.” he smiled, pulling her through, “That means now you’re a full member of the inner circle.” he teased and hung the key back onto the wall.

“Inner circle of what?” she mocked, as he led her further into the tunnel, “Your Secret Order of Tunnel Sneakers?”  
“Damn, right!” he laughed.  
“And how many members do we have?” she snorted.  
“In total?”  
“Yes.”  
“At the moment?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Active members?”  
“Yes.” she rolled her eyes, pretending to be annoyed.  
“Um, let me count … might take a while, there are so many … well, that’d be you and me!” he stated tongue-in-cheek.  
“You’re such an idiot!” she shoved him.  
“Hey! Not my fault … well, okay it’s my fault, that our favourite Dornishman jumped ship.” he teased, “But I’m working on that! We’re gonna have him back on board in no time, and… we’ve a novice!”  
“Let me guess, Tommen?” she snorted, trying not to think of Ned jumping ship on her.  
“Damn, what gave it away!?” he laughed.

“And why only Tommen and not Myrcella!?” Arya blurted, sounding more snappish than she intended.  
He stopped in his track at that and turned to face her, “Are you suggesting I’m leaving my sister out because she’s a girl?”  
“Aren't you?” she growled, unwilling to row back now.  
“If that were the case, then what’re _you_ doing here!?” he raised his brow.  
“I’m not—” she snapped, realising too late she had stepped right into his trap. _Stupid!_  
“Not what!? Not as _girlish_ as my sister? Or yours? So, who’s leaving them out now!?” he scoffed, “Rest assured, Arya, if my sister wanted to roam about in these tunnels, she would! And wouldn’t even ask for my permission …” he hissed, “And I’d say the same goes for yours! They’re not here, because they _chose_ not to be …” _Damn._  
She was speechless, feeling her ears redden in embarrassment.

Sighing, he stepped closer to her, “But you choosing to be here is one of the reasons why I like you.” he dumbfounded her, “And I think, me not going easy on you because you’re a woman, is one of the reasons why you like me.” he whispered and cupped her face with his right hand.  
Causing her face to flush bright red now, yet somehow she leaned in to his touch and even closed her eyes for a moment. Well, until her instinct made them fling wide open again.  
“No!” she burst out and pushed him away, snapping, “You _are_ going easy on me because I’m a woman!”  
_“What? When!?”_ he demanded puzzled.  
“You’re watching your language when I’m around, you almost never swear, then!” she growled.  
“Pardon, my lady, but learning to swear like an old sailor wasn’t exactly part of my upbringing!” he mock-bowed to her.  
Yet, unwilling to lose this argument as well, she hissed, “And what about the forge!? You made sure I wouldn’t see you wash and dress, you even wore a shirt the one time you knew I was coming!” yet, regretted it instantly.  
“Well, that's because you’re a highborn, _but_ if m’lady insists, of course you may watch next time …” his eyes glinted with absolute mischief.

“That’s not what I meant!” she snarled abashed, “You’re just trying to distract me, to not have to admit that I’m right.”  
“Name an example where it’s true and I'll admit it!” he challenged, still grinning like a fool.  
“Whores!” she blurted.  
“Beg your pardon!?”  
“You never answered my question, about the whores. That was because I’m a girl!”  
“Oh, you’re still nosy about that?” he teased chuckling.  
“I’m not nosy!” she yelled and shoved him angrily.  
But he only snorted with laughter, “Yeah, just curious, I know.”  
“Stop deflecting, that was because I’m a girl, I know it!” she fumed.  
“Sorry, what was the question again!?” he chuckled.  
“Why you don’t like whores!”  
“I thought we’d agreed it wasn't about liking but more about not requiring their services.” he laughed.  
Making her shove him again, hard enough for him to stumble backwards against the wall, “Deflecting!” she hissed.  
“Alright, I may have avoided answering that because you’re a girl …” he appeased.  
“Huh, knew it!” she scoffed triumphantly.

“But you do know it’s true, right?” he asked, serious of a sudden.  
“What?” she frowned confused.  
“That I’m not consorting with whores. Never have, never will.” he assured, studying her, “And if you want to know why, I’ll tell you.”  
And she nodded, without even knowing why actually she cared, that he stayed away from whores. _He was a free man …_  
“Well,” he stepped towards her, reaching for her hand again, “of course, one reason is because I like you!”  
His thumb caressed the back of her hand, causing small waves of hot and cold shivers move up her spine.

“But even if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t do it!” he proclaimed, as he led her further into the tunnel, “You wouldn’t believe, or rather, you don’t wanna know what kind of things I'd to see with a father like mine! At an age, when I definitely wasn’t ready to see those things …” he began, “Hells, for most of it I’ll never be ready to see it!” he snorted dismissively. “And you surely heard my parents’ marriage is a mess, my mother being a bitch and schemer and all that … nevertheless, she doesn’t deserve to be humiliated like that, no woman deserves that! And that damn fool doesn’t even get, he’s embarrassing himself just as much …” going by his tone, Gendry was getting angry, really angry.

“He’s groping and screwing _anything_ with a heartbeat! Well, women … since he never fails to sneer at Renly, questioning his manhood and all. But that’s a different story for another time. And I wish it actually were women he’s consorting with! He grows old, but his women don’t, if you know what I mean. And it’s not just that he’s whoring around as if it were his goal to screw any woman in the Seven Kingdoms, before he bites the dust … it probably even is! My point is, _he’s the damn king!_ So, _why the fuck_ can’t he provide these girls with moon tea!?” Gendry was absolutely furious now, “He apparently even thinks he’s doing them a favour! ‘Putting strong sons and pretty girls in their bellies’. Bastards, he gives even less a shit about than their mothers! What’s it to him, if these girls and women can’t go home to their fathers and husbands, with his offspring in their wombs and arms!? And _nobody cares_ … Not my father. Not his Council. Not my uncle Stannis, who’s too much of a prude and a snob to care. And even Jon, he just let Father do whatever he liked, be it whoring or wasting money! I mean, your father at least _tries …_ but apparently fails to see reasoning doesn’t work with that oaf. You don’t wanna know how much money Renly, Tyrion and I spent on my father’s bastards and their mothers! To get them to places where they can pose as widows and orphans to build themselves a life. Well, the ones we know of …” Gendry talked himself into a rage, like Arya had never thought possible.

“You know, my father’s probably whoring around since he was thirteen, so who knows how many there really are!? And how many of the girls ended up whores themselves … just thinking it makes me feel sick! I even confronted him about that. Asked him, if he weren’t afraid the pretty girl atop of him were his own daughter, you know what he did!? He _laughed_ at me! And asked in return, if that were the reason why I were _afraid_ of whores! And then even proudly told me _his secret trick!_ ‘Just stay away from the ones with jet-black hair!’ he said, can you believe that!?” Gendry’s mouth dripped with venom now, “And when I reminded him of my siblings, he just mocked, ‘Then stay away from the blondes as well, if it makes you feel better! I recommend brunettes and redheads anyway!’ That damn fucker just gives a shit—” and only then Gendry realised, Arya had been quiet all the time. He stopped abruptly and turned towards her, “I’m sorry! I didn’t want to scare you …” he murmured abashed.

“You didn’t.” she assured, squeezing his hand, “I wanted to know, and I understand now! I hadn’t thought of your father, just of my brothers … well, Theon mostly. I think, he’s in love with Ros, a whore from the winter town.”  
“Well, as I know your father,” Gendry absently caressed her hand again, “the brothels in winter town—”  
“There’s just one.”  
Making him chuckle, “Well, no doubt the women there are better cared for and protected than the ones here.”  
Arya nodded, “Yeah, Father doesn’t like brothels, but he says it keeps the men in line, keeps them from doing stupid things.”  
“That’s the crux of the matter!” Gendry sighed and pulled her along again, “Pity, us men aren’t as reasonable as you women, huh?”  
“Did you just admit, men are stupid!?” she teased.  
“Did I ever say otherwise?” he teased back.  
But still they walked the rest of the way through the tunnels in silence. _A nice silence, though._

Eventually, they came out a different tunnel at the base of the spiral staircase and from there on Gendry let Arya lead the way, though, never let go of her hand. But she didn’t mind. In fact, when they entered the vault with the dragon skulls, she actually thought it a pity they already were back in the keep. And that the damn awkwardness was instantly there again.

At first, they just stood there next to each other, holding hands and biting each their lips, while stealing side-glances at one another.  
“So, here we are …” Arya blurted eventually, desperate to end the awkward silence.  
“Apparently.” he chuckled.  
“So, you’re going to the council meeting now?” she went on, feeling absolutely stupid and her reddening ears seemed to agree.  
“No, there’s still time until that.” he said quietly. And the most stupid part of her hoped, he would say he wanted to stay with her a little longer, but instead he said, “I think, I’m going to hear what my mother has to say. Undoubtedly nothing fun! Probably lots of chiding. Because of _you!_ ” _Oh._ “Or Edric, or both of you … who knows, it’s Cersei Lannister, right!?” he babbled on, caressing her hand once more.

“Well, then I’m better off finding our Black Dread …” she murmured and reluctantly turned away from him, withdrawing her hand from his.  
But his fingers enclosed around hers quickly, “Arya?” he blurted, making her look up at him, “Can I write you? I mean, can I send you a raven when I get there?” he clarified.  
And she promptly nodded, trying to hide her growing smile.  
“And… will you answer?” he inquired, smiling himself.  
“Depends on the message.” she teased grinningly.  
“Gods, sometimes I hate you …” he rolled his eyes, but chuckled.  
“That feeling is mutual!” she snorted, seeing his ears flush when he attempted to retort something.  
But then his glance wandered to something behind her, “Looks like he found you first!”  
Gendry nodded towards the stairs around the corner, where Balerion unhurriedly descended the last few steps, strolling towards them.

“Well, in that case, give my regards to Edric and Brienne!” Arya retorted and added somewhat quieter, “And safe travels, Gendry.” before she withdrew her hand from his for real, to meet Balerion halfway. “Ready for a new battle?” she challenged the old tom.  
Who playfully hissed and threatened to lash out at her, only to jump sideways right before she could grab him.  
“The heck with it!” Gendry suddenly growled from behind them, startling them both, “You can’t send me to Storm’s End without my own story to tell about how a small pain-in-the-arse-lady beat me in close combat!” he huffed.  
“I’m not sending you anywhere.” she raised her brow amused, yet didn’t turn to look at him.  
“That’s no answer!” he challenged determined, “Will you spar with me now or not!?”  
“Is this about yesterday!?” she inquired warily, getting up to face him.  
“No, just me being curious …”  
“And what about your mother?”  
“Ain’t running away!” he scoffed.  
“Sparring with sharp blades? Sorry, no, your grace! I’d like to keep my head.”

“Happens I know where to find broomsticks.” he grinned, “Come on!” he grabbed her arm and pulled her along up the stairs, past the wine cellars and into one of the storage rooms. Where he took a broom from behind a barrel, “That size alright?” he asked and when she nodded, he pulled the brushwood off and handed the stick to her, before choosing one for himself. “Alright, let’s go!” he ushered her out of the room and towards the stairs again, yet, changed his mind, “No, wait! Forgot something, I’m right back.”  
He ran larking towards the kitchens – reminding her of Rickon, when he thought up his tricks – and returned an instant later with a plate and a small cake on it.  
“I’m not hungry!” she frowned.  
“Well, that’s good, since this ain’t for you, my lady! It’s for me, motivation.” he grinned mischievously, “My price when I best you—”

“More like your consolation price, when I best you!” she teased, making him lash at her thigh.  
But she easily deflected the blow, “Edric warned you, huh?”  
“Yup, told me to attack before you’re done talking!” he chuckled. And she used his distraction to try knock the plate out of his hand. But he saw it coming, “ _Hey,_ not my price!” he protested, moving it behind his back, “I came by it honestly.”  
Causing her to snort with laughter, “You mean, you stole it honestly … at least going by the speed you came running back.”  
However, he obviously had paid attention to his brother’s tales and attacked right again, trying to back her up against the wall, but she dodged to the side and whirled around, pressing the tip of her makeshift-sword against his back.  
“Dead.” she announced smugly and quickly dipped her finger into the cake, licking the icing off, “Fine enough booby price—”  
“Hey, hands off my cake!” he turned around, playfully outraged, “You’re worse than the mice in this keep …”

Thus, by the time they returned to the dragon skull vault, his cake had two more holes. Even though, he had fought valiantly, as if she were a monster trying to steal his maiden bride. Yet, as soon as they entered the vault, he put the plate on some sill and spent their whole sparring session defending it against her raids. And now that he had both his hands free that became slightly trickier for her.  
But she still found his weakness rather quickly, “You’re not used to fight without padding, princeling!” she teased, while he kept hissing in pain at each of her hits.  
“And you fully enjoy it, my lady!” he teased back.  
“Course!”  
Nevertheless, he was ambitious to win the match and eventually stopped holding back, landing quite some blows himself. He was a quick study and swiftly changed his tactics, trying to double-cross and surprise her.

But in the end it was sheer force what made him best her, wrenching the stick from her grip, when he eventually caught her arm. Yet, unwilling to yield to him, she stuck a foot between his legs and tripped him. Though, he yanked her down with him and they rolled across the floor. He trying to pin her down and she wriggling free and punching him. But he only laughed at the blows, which made her mad.  
Especially, when he finally caught both her wrists in one hand and started tickling her with the other, “I guess that cake’s mine!”  
“You mean, what’s left of it …” she snorted angrily, since she had added eight more holes – making it look like a chunk of stinky cheese now.  
“Yeah, for not being hungry, you gobbled quite a bit of it.” he laughed, “But that’s over now, the rest is mine!”  
Only just then, they heard the plate clatter to the ground.  
“Or not!” she burst into laughter, as they both watched Balerion hopping white-faced from the sill to steal the rest of the icing.  
“Damn old traitor tom, that was my prey!” Gendry scolded playfully, joining her laughter.  
“Whose cake was it anway?” Arya questioned.  
“Well, I didn’t ask … but, um, going by the rose petals the baker was about to put onto it,” he chuckled roguishly, and she almost laughed herself to tears before he even said, “I’d say Joff’s gift for Margaery.”

However, of a sudden Gendry stopped laughing and gazed down at her. Wordlessly. Studying her. Pinning Arya down with nothing else but his stormy blue eyes. And even though, her lashes fluttered nervously and her cheeks undoubtedly turned bright red, she was unable to move. And studied him in return. _He truly was the most handsome man, she had ever seen. His eyes bluer than even the sky. His black hair thick yet not coarse, but shiny and just the right amount of waved, just a bit. His dark brows well-defined, yet not too full. His jawbone strong, but not excessive. His nose and cheekbones perfectly shaped, spotted with tiny freckles – making him look roguish and young even now. While the short beard stubble in all the right places made sure he didn’t look too young. And his lips, they were just … flawless._  
“Gods, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than you, Arya.” he ripped her from her straying thoughts, perplexing her.  
Even more so, when his eyes wandered to her mouth, lingering there until he bent down. _Was he—_

His lips were on hers, before her mind had even fully phrased the thought. And her eyes went wide in shock as her heart seemed to stop, only to pound as fierce as never before a mere instant later. While tingling waves of warmth and cold rippled through her body, making her tummy feel as if a swarm of butterflies were caught inside. It was all too much, forcing her to close her eyes. To feel his stubble slightly scratch her skin, as his lips caressed hers and _his weren’t the only ones moving!_

At that, her eyes flew open in panic, making her realise, he still held both her wrists. But thankfully his eyes flew open now as well and he pulled away instantly. And for a moment they studied each other wide-eyed. Well, until she slammed her knee between his legs, out of instinct to get away. And while he rolled to the side, groaning with pain, she swiftly crawled away from him, grabbing her sword belt, she ran.  
“… the fuck, Arya! What was that for!?” she heard him curse.  
But didn’t wait for him to recover. She was out of the vault, racing back to the Tower of the Hand, as if running for her life. Her mind blank.

And in her panic she took the long route, the one she had taken the very first day. Thus, Gendry soon grabbed her arm, causing her to slam into his chest.  
“Arya, stop!” he panted, “What was that!?”  
“You tell me!” she hissed outraged, “How dare you kiss me!?” she wrenched herself free and continued her way.  
Yet, she barely walked ten more feet, when he stopped her again, “But I thought—”  
“Thought _what!?_ ” she hissed, “That I wanted it?”  
“Yeah!?” he stared at her bewildered, “You could’ve stopped me … but you didn’t!”  
“Um, _yeah!_ Remember, my knee—” she snarled.  
“All too well, rest assured, my lady!” he hissed back, yet still perplexed.  
“Then what’s not to understand!?” she scoffed, wrenching free once more.  
But he stormed after her, calling, “That’s just it! First you kiss me and then _that!_ ”  
“Have you lost your mind!?” she spat angrily, “ _You_ kissed me … without asking!”  
“Yeah, and you _liked_ it!” he countered, getting mad, “So much, _you kissed me back!_ ”  
At that, she stopped and turned around, flinging her fist at him, but he dodged the blow.  
“Still think I liked it!?” she yelled.  
“Yeah!” he shouted, “And you can hit me all you want, it’s still true, _you know it!_ ”  
“You’re nuts!” she spat.  
“Only because you’re driving me so—” he retorted equally mad.

“Arya, there you are!” someone called of a sudden, making them both still, and instantly aware of their surroundings again. _Damn._  
They had reached the gravelled yard outside the Hand's Tower and found now several servants and three Baratheon guards staring at them, while Harwin and Desmond quickly strode towards them. _Fuck._  
“Your grace.” the two Stark guards greeted him warily and turned straight to Arya.  
“Are you alright?” Desmond asked worried, placing a hand on her shoulder to lead her away.  
And she let him, baffling Gendry.  
“You’re just leaving like this!?” he called after her in seeming disbelief, “Have you nothing else to say to me?”  
Yet, feeling embarrassed in front of her father’s men and not knowing what else to say, she only murmured back over her shoulder, “Safe travels, your grace.”  
“You got to be jesting, Arya?!” Gendry burst out dumbstruck.  
“Apologies, you grace, but we’ve orders to escort the _Lady_ Arya immediately to Lord and Lady Stark now.” Harwin countered in a slightly warning tone and urged her and Desmond to a quicker pace.

Of course, Arya had known she was in trouble once more, even before Desmond led her up the stairs inside the Tower of the Hand. Of course, she hadn’t really expected for her absence to go unnoticed all day long. And of course, she had been prepared for another round of chiding. However, the extent of her misfortune she only began to understand, when they neared her father’s solar. _What the—!?_ Arya froze in her step, seeing the wall-hanging gone and the secret door standing wide open. _Fuck._  
“Come, Arya! Your father's waiting." Desmond gently ushered her forward and into the Hand's solar.

Where her family already awaited her. Yet, neither of them spoke. Ned Stark sat at his desk, his face sterner than she had ever seen it before. Catelyn Tully stood next to him with her hand on his shoulder, no efforts to conceal her raging fury. And her sister behind them at the window, stared blankly at Blackwater Bay. Causing Arya to bite her lower lip and tighten her grip on Needle's hilt, while her face slowly turned a dark shade of red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARYA
> 
> As you maybe guessed, this chapter was mostly to remind Arya of how great she and Gendry get along, even though they can't spend 5 min together without bickering and ranting, but that is just part of their relationship and I don't ever see them outgrow that. I for my part just love that about them, that they one moment are absolutely adorable together and the next they fight like cats and dogs. 
> 
> And the cake in this chapter is kind of a metaphor for their relationship and how Arya deals with it now that she knows he wants to marry her. She is dipping her fingers into having a relationship with him, but she doesn't fully give in to it, she doesn't fully commit to it - because he is the damn crown prince/future king. And at the end the cake/their relationship is ruined sprawled across the floor (once more).
> 
> GENDRY
> 
> Gendry is really pissed at Arya now and is leaving for Storm's End. First, he doesn't want to skip his brother's birthday because of her - who only insults and pushes him away again and again. But mostly, he needs a break now as well. To calm down and clear his head and get away from the madness at court, too. And if you wonder why Tommen and Myrcella don't go to Storm's End for Edric's birthday.... well that is because of overprotective Cersei, who doesn't want her babies wander out of her sight. And least of all to befriend their bastard brother.
> 
> And if you wonder why he is so super smart in this story - remember the Lannister genes! But also, I believe canon-Gendry (both books/show) to be very smart, I think people just mistake his sullen introvert character or Arya teasingly calling him 'stupd' for him being not smart. But I beg to differ, I think he is damn smart, he just learnt to keep his mouth shut and head down, since that is what makes a Flea Bottom orphan survive.  
> So, the Lannister genes only add to that in my story, that is why he is super smart-ass.
> 
> Also, this chapter was meant to give you guys and Arya a bit more insight into Gendry, why his parents drive him nuts, why it became a habit for him to flee to Tobho Mott, even at a young age. Because I believe a trueborn-Gendry would struggle with Cersei as his mother and Robert as his father. 
> 
> SANSA
> 
> Hearing about what Gendry did with Arya - sneaking un-chaperoned through tunnels, strolling through Flea Bottom in the middle of the night - makes Sansa realise, she never really knew who Gendry is. She always saw him as the perfect gentleman, who always plays by the rules. And she now sees, she was wrong about him. 
> 
> Plus, she has now spent time with men who fit the profile of her future husband better than Gendry, so her raging jealousy will quickly fade and she will be busy with her own love story.
> 
> ARYA AND THE POOR
> 
> Of course Arya notices the many starving ragged people in Flea Bottom. So, some of you might argue, Arya should marry Prince Gendry to end their suffering, since when he would become king, she would have the power to do that. 
> 
> Yes, she cares about the weaker ones and is very protective. But still, I don’t believe she should help them by giving up herself (which I believe she would, if she were to marry a lord/prince/king). I believe with her skills, she is super stealthy (small, quick, people think her a boy, smart, good fighter, good climber) even without her training as Faceless Man, so I believe she should rather turn into a Robin Hood-ish Cat-Woman to help them, stealing from the rich to give to the poor. 
> 
> After all, marrying the future king wouldn’t help the kids/whores that are on the streets now, but only the later generations, and Cersei would hardly allow her to spoil all the luxury to help the poor before Gendry is king. 
> 
> Marrying the future king to help the poor is a very diplomatic way, a politician’s way. That is Sansa’s way. Not Arya’s. I don’t see Arya as a very diplomatic figure, a character that would be a good politician. Arya is pragmatic and impulsive and quick to action. 
> 
> That is why I think she should rather become the Queen of Thieves in King’s Landing than the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms to help the poor. 
> 
> And that difference between Sansa and Arya is why I love them together. Arya delivers the quick short term solutions and Sansa the longterm solution, together they could conquer and rule their whole world - if they wanted to xD
> 
> INVENTING CHARACTERS
> 
> I know I stated in one of the comments, that I hate inventing characters in fanfics. And it still is true. That is also why I haven’t given a name to Arya’s stallion. But now in this chapter I realised I needed a name for Tobho Mott’s servant girl and also his apprentice. So I looked names up that exist in the ASOIAF universe and that I thought fitting, and inserted the names in the previous forge-chanpters as well. But it hopefully was the last time in this fic.


	15. The Most Stupid Words in the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, her parents and sister finally get the truth about Arya's relationship with Gendry ... well, the most of it, the things that matter. And they react to it.
> 
> Of course, Ned Stark is not amused to hear Gendry snuck around with his maiden daughter, entirely unchaperoned. And thus is rather happy he will spend some time at Storm's End now. Whereas Catelyn sees her worst fears come true and unsurprisingly tries to persuade Arya to accept Gendry's proposal. She naturally believes an imminent betrothal would keep the gossip about their secret meetings in check and thus fails once more to see, that Arya needs more than being in love with Gendry to find happiness and content in her life. So Catelyn once again gets her hopes up, that maybe Arya could outgrow her wild nature, that maybe loving Gendry could finally tame her. But unlike their parents, who react pretty much as she could have expected, her sister's reaction is indeed a surprise for Arya - and there is a reason for that, as she is about to find out.

“HOW LONG!?” her Lord Father eventually broke the deafening silence.  
“How long _what!?_ ” Arya retorted abashed, not sure she knew what he meant.  
“ _How long_ have you been meeting the crown prince in secret?” Ned Stark clarified, making her swallow loudly.  
“You were seen with him in the city.” Lady Stark stated frigidly.  
“That’s _impossible …_ ” Arya blurted shocked, _she had her hood up!_  
“Is it!?” her father questioned sternly, “Were you not in Tobho Mott’s shop today?”  
“Are you having me followed now!?” Arya exclaimed perplexed.  
“No, but apparently I should!” Lord Stark growled.  
“Then how do you know!?” Arya questioned stunned.  
“The queen had asked Petyr to tail her son—” Lady Catelyn explained.  
“ _Rubbish!_ That rat’s not working for the queen,” Arya spat defensively, “your fine friend joined forces with Margaery and Joffrey—”  
“Maybe, but that’s not the point here, Arya.” her father countered, demanding, “I asked you a question and I’ll have it answered now! So, since when are you meeting _him_ in secret?” he sounded more furious than he had ever been with her.

“Um…” Arya didn’t know what to say, “technically … since the day I arrived.”  
Sansa’s head yanked around, “You said, you didn’t know why he did it!” she stared at her in disbelief.  
And their Lady Mother gasped hysterically.   
“ _Technically?_ What does that even mean!?” her father asked thunderstruck.  
“Well, the first time was kind of an accident,” Arya murmured abashed, “since I didn’t know who he was …”  
Though, hearing that, made Lady Catelyn stumble backwards in distress, so her husband had to stabilise her.  
“Oh, gods, _she’s ruined!_ ” her mother moaned close to despair.  
_“What!?”_ Arya blurted bewildered, “No! Gendry wouldn’t do that, he’s not like his father—”

 _“Gendry!?”_ Sansa scoffed, “What happened to ‘idiot’ and ‘stupid princeling’?”  
But it was her father’s question that dumbfounded Arya for good, “So, you’re telling us … he _hasn’t_ secretly visited your chamber!?” Ned Stark inquired, clearly on edge.  
“ _What the fuck!?_ No. Never!” Arya burst out, “Are you off your heads?”  
Her father ignored her swearing and continued, “And you, have you ever been in his?” still not convinced.  
“Hells, no!” Arya snorted furiously, “We were just friends, until he … _did that thing_ at the tourney, _I swear!_ ”  
“So, he hasn’t _touched_ you!?” her mother inquired incredulously.  
“No, not in any improper way.” Arya assured.  
“But why did he show you that passageway, then?” Lady Catelyn asked confused.

Sighing, Arya told them reluctantly about her and him. Well, the basics. How he had found her chasing Balerion in the vault with the dragon skulls and how she had thought him a manservant, back then. How mad she had been at him, because he hadn’t told her and how he had insisted to keep their first encounter a secret, because of all the schemers at court. How she accidently had stumbled across him at Tobho Mott’s shop, and how she then had asked him to let her stay for a while, out of homesickness. How she had no longer been mad at him after that. And how he had joined them on their rides sometimes, which she had believed were because of Myrcella and Trystane. And even how he had taken her to Flea Bottom – shocking all three of them. So, she quickly added, she would have found the tunnels, anyway. And last she told them, how due to the late hour then, he had shown her the passageway, though, without ever stepping past the wall-hanging himself.

Still, she left out some parts. Like, how he made her feel, ever since she had seen him at the forge. Or the secret messages, they had exchanged during the tourney. And of course, the kiss. _That,_ she was just unable to tell them. That, she just wanted to forget, to bury it somewhere deep down in her mind, or her heart or wherever … she just didn’t want to think of it again. _Ever again._

But she told them, how Myrcella had convinced her to look at his armour designs. Which then had made her sneak out, to see him at Mott’s shop. And that at first, she had thought they could be friends again, but then on their way back she had come to realise, they were on two entirely different pages – if not in two entirely different volumes now. _Or shelfs. Or realms. Or worlds._

For a moment, her parents and sister brooded silently over what she had told them, before they eventually regained their composure and started discussing how to deal with _this._ And although they all knew, with Arya there hadn’t been much persuading needed, her parents agreed, the crown prince had overstepped boundaries, endangering Arya's reputation. 

Her father was even about to decline his request for her hand at that. But her Lady Mother beseeched him, arguing, if anyone else but Petyr would hear about these secret encounters, Gendry were Arya's only chance to prevent her ruin. And Sansa concurred, it were important to make Gendry stand by his word now, but surprisingly she also agreed with Arya – on Littlefinger. Explaining to their mother, it were as good as public knowledge, her childhood friend were fearing for his position, once Gendry would come to the throne.

At that, Lady Catelyn had to sit down and her husband swiftly offered her his chair.  
“Oh, child, _what have you done!?_ ” Lady Stark whispered more to herself than to Arya, before she actually looked up to face her again, “Didn’t you see how reckless this was … did you really think, there was no good reason for all the rules and lectures?”  
“We didn’t do anything wrong, we were just friends!” Arya countered stubbornly.  
“You can’t be friends with him, _not like that!_ Not in the world we live in. And you know that, Arya!” Her Lady Mother retorted, despair slowly mixing with disappointment, “You’re flowered, he’s a grown man … and not your husband, yet—”  
_“Yet!?”_ Arya exclaimed aghast, “I’m not marrying him!”  
“You should’ve thought of that before you snuck around with him in the middle of the night!” Catelyn Tully scolded.  
“It’s the best way to prevent your ruin, Arya—” Sansa added.  
_“I don’t care!”_  
“But we do!” Ned Stark growled, “You’re my daughter and I won’t have you defamed and ruined.”

Unfortunately, though, her father soon after went to attend the Small Council meeting, leaving Arya alone with her mother and sister. And Catelyn Tully naturally hit her with questions again, why she would meet Gendry in secret, despite knowing how wrong it was. And asked her once more, if he really hadn’t touched her – clearly not understanding, people could meet in secret without doing _that._ So, Arya was actually glad when Desmond suddenly knocked, interrupting her mother’s interrogation, to announce a messenger were here. Sadly, though, that relief didn’t last much longer, seeing the man entering the solar wore a Baratheon attire and declared, the message were for her. _Of course, that idiot had to find a way to cause her even more trouble._

Rolling her eyes, she took the scroll of parchment and watched the messenger leave the room, before she slowly turned back to her Lady Mother and Sansa, who unsurprisingly studied her with raised eyebrows.  
_“What!?”_ Arya huffed.  
“What’s _that?_ ” Catelyn Tully questioned, nodding at the message.  
“How’d I know?!” Arya growled.  
“Show me!” her mother ordered.  
“What? No!” _What if he mentioned the kiss!?_  
“Show me!” her mother repeated, getting louder.  
“It’s sealed …” Arya proclaimed defensively. _Stupidly._  
“I can see that.” her mother hissed, “Give it to me!”  
“It’s probably nothing, just something stupid … I’ll burn it, I didn’t want to read it, anyway.” Arya argued, stepping to the hearth.  
“Don’t you dare, young lady!” Catelyn Tully snarled, “You’ll hand it to me, _now!_ ”  
Fuming, Arya threw it onto the desk.

And watched her mother closely, as she broke the seal and unrolled the parchment, her brows knitting instantly. _Please, nothing about the kiss!_  
Looking up at her, Lady Catelyn demanded, “Who’s Elinor!?” _Huh? Oh!_  
“Um, Master Mott’s servant girl.”  
“And what promise did you make that girl?” Lady Stark narrowed her eyes.  
“Nothing, just … a gift, some of my old clothes—”  
“You’re not giving away your dresses, young lady!” her mother hissed.  
_“Why?”_ Arya snapped, “I never wanted them! Least of all those from the tourney … they go to Elinor or I’ll burn—”   
“You will do no such thing!” her mother snarled.  
_“Watch me!”_ Arya shot back, “And didn’t you just say, we shouldn’t anger Gendry!? He’s with me on this, isn’t he!?” causing her mother’s jaw to drop.

Right when her father returned, sooner than he had said.  
“Ned? What happened?” Lady Stark asked concerned, “Please, tell me, you didn’t—“  
“No.” her husband growled, “It was just a shorter meeting than expected, the crown prince excused himself, he left for Storm’s End tonight …”  
Lady Catelyn’s glance shot instantly back to the parchment in her hands, reading on, her eyes going wide. _Fuck._  
“What’s that?” Ned Stark frowned, and his wife handed him the message wordlessly.  
“Why would he leave of a sudden!?” Catelyn Tully demanded, her eyes piercing Arya.  
“He would’ve left, anyway …” she hissed defensively.  
“Why? What did you do!?”  
“He just left a day early, Cat!” her father appeased, adding, “And maybe him gone for a fortnight or two is for the best—”

“ _How_ can that be for the best, Ned!? With Petyr telling everyone she were alone with him in the city … entering some shady houses?” Catelyn Tully questioned aghast.  
But now it was her husband, who seemed absorbed in the message. Reading it twice, apparently.  
Before he asked as well, “Who’s Elinor? And what delivery will his men collect?”  
“That armourer’s maid, she says!” Catelyn Tully scoffed, “She promised her whole wardrobe to that girl and threatens to burn it all, if we shouldn’t allow it—”  
“What!?” Ned Stark blurted, “ _Arya—_ ”  
“Not all, just the gowns from the tourney …” she mumbled.  
“Let the girl have them! Arya can’t wear them anymore, anyway.” Sansa interrupted, surprising everyone, “What!?” the older Stark daughter snorted, explaining, “It’d only fuel the gossipmongers … and honestly, we’ve a bigger problem at hands here! With Gendry gone and Littlefinger knowing about them, Margaery and Joffrey will fully exploit this …”

“Yes, we know that, Sansa. But I still find it odd, that he now left early of a sudden. And I want to hear from your sister _why!?_ ” Lady Stark asked, her eyes piercing Arya once more.  
“I told you, we had a fight!” Arya huffed, “It’s not my fault he wants something else than I!” now certain there was no kiss mentioned, _or else they’d be discussing that now._  
“Are you sure about that!?” her mother raised her brows in disbelief, nodding at the message in her husband’ hands, “He seems quite certain you'd return his affection—” _That stupid bull-headed … argh!_  
“Just because he wants it to be true, doesn’t mean it is!” Arya yelled, knowing, if she would admit it to her mother, her betrothal to Gendry were an accomplished fact.

Catelyn Tully took a deep breath now, “I admit I was wrong about you and Ned, and I might have pushed you too hard, there …” she changed her strategy, trying to sound as calm and reasonable as possible, “But I wasn’t wrong about you returning happy from those rides, wasn’t I? I mean, had I known he was there, too, courting you as well—”  
“Had I known _that_ was courting, I wouldn’t have gone on another ride! With neither him or Ned.” Arya scoffed furiously, “And I’m not marrying him or whoever else, just because you’re afraid of a little gossip, I can take that!”

After that, her parents predictably decided to continue their discussion once more without her and Sansa. _They were both grown women!_ Yet their parents still made decisions for them, as if they were stupid little girls, who couldn’t distinguish right from wrong and good from bad. Only now their parents’ decisions were no longer about, if a septa should teach them, or in which belief they should be raised, but with whom they should share their beds and lives with. _How could Sansa be okay with that!? It wasn’t okay. All but that! It was their lives, they should be in charge!_

And Arya knew, a life with Gendry wouldn’t be helping him in the forge and sparring and exploring … It would be feasts and dancing. _And that was the supposed fun part._ But mostly it would be council meetings and audiences _and all that nonsense_ for him, and bearing stupid heirs for her. _No matter, if she wanted children or not._ She was old enough to remember, how her mother had been with Rickon in her belly. Lady Catelyn hadn’t been allowed to go riding, then. And in the end, Maester Luwin had even forbid her to walk stairs alone. _Stupid stairs!_ So, Arya knew, as soon as she were with Gendry’s child, she would lose even the few little freedoms she maybe could have maintained until then. Especially, if Gendry wasn’t king yet, then. No more riding, sparring, climbing and running. The unborn life would be more valuable and important than hers. And if she would lose it, everyone would blame her, no matter what. Especially, if it would happen more than once. People would blame her. Not Gendry. Not the gods. Or the unborn child. Just her. _It was always the woman’s fault!_ And if anyone would tell Gendry, she had been riding or sparring, how long until he would hate her? _She couldn’t change who she was! Not even for him. She’d be miserable as his wife._ She knew it. _And eventually he’d become miserable with her as well. As miserable as his father was with his mother._ Gendry was nearly five years older, _how couldn’t he see that!?_ Yet, somehow no one called him childish …

With her thoughts ranting, Arya had stormed from her father’s solar to retreat to her chamber. But she had barely closed her door, when a small knock ripped her from her thoughts and her sister entered.  
“You forgot this!” Sansa offered her the scroll of parchment.  
“I left it on purpose,” Arya growled, “I don’t want it!”  
Nonetheless, her eyes stayed fixed on the message in her sister’s hand.  
“Mother said you should read it!” Sansa stated quietly.  
“Does she really think a stupid piece of parchment would change my mind!?” Arya hissed, slumping down onto the edge of her bed.  
“I don’t know, it might!” Sansa argued and before Arya could object again, she asked, “Aren’t you even a little curious?”  
“Curiosity killed the cat!” Arya scoffed, “And made me walk right into Littlefinger’s trap … so, just throw it in the hearth, and let’s be done with it!”  
“Come on, Arya, even I’m bursting with curiosity!” Sansa teased.  
“You haven’t read it!?” Arya asked surprised.  
Her sister shook her head, “I’m curious, not nosy!” and unknowingly triggered a memory, _Aren’t you a nosy one?_ Gendry whispered in her mind.  
“They read it. So why shouldn’t you!?” Arya stated, unwilling to delve into memories of him now.

“Are you serious?” her sister studied her, before she actually unrolled the parchment. Leaving Arya to study Sansa’s face now in return – it almost told a story of its own. First, there was no reaction. Then her brow furrowed, somewhat worried. Then a small chuckle followed and then her eyes went wide and she chuckled again, before she looked up at Arya.  
“You so wanna read this!” she grinned amused.   
"Why are you suddenly supporting _this_ … him!?” Arya narrowed her eyes, accusing, “You’re afraid my ruin would mean yours, aren’t you!?” wiping Sansa’s smile from her face.

“You’re my sister!” she hissed, “Of course, I don’t wanna see you defamed and ruined! And yes, I think politically the best strategy were to just accept his proposal, since it’d keep those vicious creatures at bay. But unlike Mother I always knew, you belong as much at court as the wolves belong into a kennel … that’s why I know, you’ll never accept him, _you just can’t!_ And long-term that’s probably even for the best. For both of you, and the Seven Kingdoms. And yeah, logically, I’m not looking forward to have them slander me as well again! I thought I’d die of shame after the tourney, Arya, I’ve never felt so embarrassed in my whole life … and it hurt to believe he’d think you a better a queen! It made me feel like a complete failure! It just didn’t make any sense, you being you, all wild, reckless tomboy …” her sister sighed, before she went on in a softer tone, “But I get it now, he just fell in love with you and not with me! I mean, I’ll probably never understand why, but at least I know how now … and somehow it doesn’t hurt as much as I’d thought, somehow the pity and sneering behind my back hurts more than him choosing you!” Sansa sat down next to her, “And like Mother said, we were wrong about the cause, but not about the effect on you … Arya, he does make you beam and grin like a fool! And I never felt that, not with him or anyone … so, you have no idea, how _much_ I envy you for that, little sister!”

“You don’t want _that,_ ” Arya murmured abashed, “believe me, Sansa!”  
“ _But I do!_ It’s all I ever wanted … and why I think you should read it!” Sansa offered her the scroll again, “Or I could read it for you, but I think that would ruin it … Arya, this’s something you should hold on to! No matter what you decide about him. So, you can read it when you’re old and grey, smiling to yourself like Old Nan. Or boast with it in front of your grandchildren … or mine, if you don’t want any! You could tell them the tale of ‘the She-wolf That Stole a Prince’s Heart’… I bet my girls will love that story!”  
“Alright, give me the damn thing!” Arya rolled her eyes, “I bet, it’s not even half as good as you want me to believe—” But it was. Stupid. Stunning. Awful. Beautiful. Terrible. Amazing. All at once.

“Lady Arya, I assumed you would want to keep your promise to Elinor, despite our latest disagreement. Therefore, I instructed some of my men to collect your delivery in the morning. Should you have changed your mind, just tell them. And do not worry about Elinor, I doubt she thought you were serious. Though, I hope you are. P.S. I want you to hear this from me: I am leaving for Storm’s End tonight. Now, actually. Since this time it is not just you being mad at me. This time, I am mad at you as well. I am done with you pushing me away, pretending I were the only one feeling this way – you know what I mean. But in case you do not, and I really want to make sure you do, I am writing it down now. _I love you._ Yes, you read correct. I – that is stupid bull-headed Gendry of House Baratheon – love you – the ever so stubborn and fierce Lady Arya of House Stark, also known as the She-wolf of Winterfell. I hope you had a good laugh at my expense reading this. But now I want you to think about what this means to you. And to give you the time and peace for that, I promise I will not pester you with any ravens. If you want one anyway, you have to send me one first. But I doubt you will. So, goodbye for now. GB” it said, leaving Arya speechless for a moment.

She stared at the parchment, her cheeks and ears burning bright red, while she tried to keep her growing smile in check. _It’s just words, just a stupid row of stupid letters._ she told herself, but her eyes remained fixed on the three words and her fingers traced them involuntarily.  
“ _See,_ that’s what I mean!” her sister teased excitedly, pointing at Arya’s flushed face, “For _that,_ even I’d sneak through dirty tunnels full of bugs and rats and—”  
“He kissed me!” slipped from Arya’s lips before she knew.  
“What!?” Sansa gasped stunned.  
“ _Please,_ don’t tell Mother and Father … at least not Mother, she’ll make me marry him, if she knows!” Arya pleaded wide-eyed, shocked over herself, “It was nothing … just a tiny quick one, today after sparring … I accidentally kissed him back, but when I noticed, I stopped it, slammed my knees between his legs … that’s why he’s pissed!”  
For a moment, Sansa just stared at her, but then she chuckled, “Did you just tell me your darkest secret?”  
“You can’t tell anyone!”  
“I won’t, I swear.” Sansa placated, yet teased again, “So, my wild baby sister allowed a man to steal a kiss and live, huh!? Who would’ve seen that coming, half a year ago?”  
_Certainly not me!_ Arya thought, sighing and staring at the three little words right below the centre of the parchment again. _What a mess she had manoeuvred herself in, out of all the men in the world, it had to be him …_

“There is someone!” Sansa blurted of a sudden, ripping her from her straying thoughts.  
“Huh!? Where?” Arya asked confused.  
“He’s leaving me gifts in the godswood, on a tree stump near the entrance.”  
_“Who!?”_  
“I don’t know … it started the day after the tourney.” her sister explained quietly, “A white rose the first day. I didn’t take it, since I thought it were for someone else. The next day it was a winter rose. Which I left as well, assuming it were from Ned for you … you know, because of the white and blue. But then on the third day, I found a silver ribbon under a small stone with my name carved in. So, I took it …” Sansa told her blushing, “And since then I keep finding things there, whenever I leave the godswood, well, when I go there at my usual time—”  
“And you have no clue who it is!?” Arya questioned incredulously.  
“Well, I thought he’d reveal himself after a couple of days, but now it’s a fortnight … I’d thought to ask Jeyne to come pray with me, but she obviously can’t keep her mouth shut when it comes to it—”

“I’ll go with you!” Arya offered, assuring, “I’ll catch him, don’t worry—”  
“ _No!_ I don’t want to scare him off … no offence, Arya!” Sansa declined, perplexing her.  
“But what if he’s some creep!?” she countered concerned.  
“He isn’t!”  
“Sansa, just because he’s leaving your sweet little gifts, doesn’t mean—”  
“How stupid do you think me!?” her sister cocked her brow accusingly.  
“I didn’t mean …” Arya stammered abashed, “it’s just, _how_ can you know he’s no creep, if don’t know who he is!?  
“He isn’t, rest assured!”  
“But how—”  
“Fine, but don’t get mad at me now,” Sansa began, making Arya frown warily. _What did she do!?_

“I asked Ned to help me!” her sister blurted a moment later, and quickly explained herself, “He’s the only one I could rule out, and I trust him …”  
“Okay …” Arya murmured, not knowing what to think of this unexpected alliance.  
“Well, Ned went with me a couple days ago,” Sansa went on, “to keep watch while I prayed—”  
“And he didn’t catch him!?” Arya asked incredulous.  
“He did!” Sansa chuckled, “But _he_ turned out someone he knows, and he made Ned swear not to tell me. Apparently, he wants me to guess who he is! But Ned assured me, it’s someone kind and honourable and a suitable match.”  
“And you think it’s that Ser Lucas?”   
“Well, Ned knows him, but I’m not so sure. I asked him, if he’d ever been at the godswood here and he sounded as if I wouldn’t know the Blackwoods believe in the old gods and told me about their dead weirwood tree and all. So, either it’s not him, or he’s a really good actor …”

“Well, then let me help!” Arya offered again, “Whoever it is, he can’t make me swear—”  
“No, Arya, I don’t want to scare him away!” Sansa objected.  
“He won’t even know I’m there,” Arya rolled her eyes, “he leaves your gift and I follow him and tell you afterwards …”  
“No, please, _not yet!_ If I’m too stupid to find out on my own, _then_ you can follow him. But for now I don’t want to ruin whatever this is.” Sansa retorted, “I only told you, because you told me about the kiss! Since you can’t tell Father and Mother about this either, they’d immediately task Jory and the others to apprehend him. And I don’t want him to stop, I know it’s silly, but it’s … _nice._ And so romantic, don’t you think!?”  
Making Arya roll her eyes again, “Let’s settle for nice.”

Yet, a moment later, she heard herself saying, “Throughout the tourney, Gendry left me messages behind the secret door.”  
“What kind of messages?” Sansa studied her curiously.  
“You know, just silly little notes …” she began sheepishly, telling her sister what she had left out earlier with their parents.  
Arya couldn’t say why of a sudden and out of all people she would let Sansa in, who she never really got along with before. But it somehow felt right now. And she couldn’t deny the relief she felt afterwards – being finally rid of some of the weight on her mind. Though, of course Sansa teased her, how romantic she thought everything and especially the secret notes. Claiming, now Arya would have all the more reason to keep Gendry’s latest message, since she had to burn all his previous ones.

“Should I maybe leave _him_ a message?” Sansa asked of a sudden. _Great, now their mother would kill her._  
“I don’t know, Sansa,” Arya objected, “what if you get caught?”  
“I could leave it on the stub, when I enter the godswood and he picks it up while I pray.” Sansa argued, her mind apparently already set, “And if I write as vague as possible, who could prove it’s my note?”  
“Sansa, that’s how trouble for me started, thinking I wouldn’t get caught!" Arya warned, “And it’s hardly anonymous, if there’s a stone with your name carved in.”  
“Don’t be silly, that wandered straight into my desk’s drawer.” Sansa countered, getting all the wrong ideas, “And if Mother find’s it, I could say Rickon made it. Like you did with Gendry’s necklace—” _Seven hells!_

“You do realise, you sound exactly like me!?” Arya stared incredulously at her sister.  
“And you sound like Mother!” she teased, giggling.  
“Well, I’m not the one swooning over some stranger, who doesn’t even show his face!” Arya snapped, feeling somewhat offended.  
“You think me stupid, do you!?” Sansa asked hurt.  
“No, Sansa, I’m just saying, be careful!” Arya appeased, “Especially now, with everyone trying to get back at me …” making her sister knit her brow, absorbed in thoughts.  
“Maybe I could ask Ned to give him the note? Just the first one, in which I explain where and when I leave the messages, like for example behind the stump?” Sansa suggested and tried to win her over, “Don’t you see, I could ask him questions, then … find out quicker who he is!?”

At that, Arya took a deep breath, to not tell her sister again, she were the quickest way to find out. _Hmm, she could still check him out, secretly? No!_ Her sneaking around in the godswood would undoubtedly draw Littlefinger’s attention to Sansa and her mysterious suitor. _She couldn’t ruin this for her sister. Not, after she finally started to forgive her for Gendry._ And most of all, Arya didn’t want to ruin whatever it was, that of a sudden allowed her to bond with her sister, like never before … 

And so Sansa stayed with her until nightfall, discussing her mysterious suitor and some of the other men who tried to woo her. For a while, they even talked about Ned, and potential strategies for Arya to win his friendship back. Before Sansa told her about Margaery’s lousy attempts to drive a wedge between them, and they both wondered about the viper’s lust for power. How she could even consider to marry someone like Joffrey, just for the tiny chance that they _maybe_ could overthrow Gendry, once he came to the throne. And they both agreed, the viper couldn’t be half as smart as they had thought her, or else she would have gone after Tommen – finding ways to get rid of both, Gendry and Joffrey. _There were so many possibilities! Riding accidents. A splintering lance at a tourney. A sunken ship. A fire in a chamber. A fall from a tower. A stray arrow. Greyscale, and other nasty diseases. Poison. Assassins. Or the Tyrells could just seize Gendry and Joffrey and lock them both away in some secret dungeon in the Reach. Put them in the same cell and they murder each other!_ But no, the viper chose to pursue Joffrey instead. _What an idiot!_

It had been fun talking with her sister like that, especially all that fantasizing about the multiple possibilities Margaery had failed to see to get rid of Joffrey and Gendry. But most of all it had helped Arya to get her mind off her own trouble with the latter one. At least for a while.

Since eventually Sansa had called the maids to prepare them each a bath. And the girls had barely left Arya’s chamber, when a storm broke loose in her mind. She sat broodingly in her steaming tub, one moment tracing her fingers over her lips and staring at the parchment on her bed in blank astonishment. Only to groan in frustration an instant later, clenching her fists and hurtling them down with full force, splashing water over half the floor. _Why did he kiss her!? When they finally talked again. And why the heck did she kiss him back?_  
“You don’t want to be his stupid queen, you bloody fool?!” Arya chided herself.

And stayed in the tub until her fingers were more wrinkly than Old Nan’s face and a shiver made her realise the water had cooled down. She didn’t known how late it was then, but unmistakably too late to call the maids to empty the tub. So, she rubbed herself dry, brushed and braided her hair and slipped under her covers. Where his stupid message found its way back into her hand right away. _As if it had a will of its own._ She read it over and over again. _Gods, he really turned her into a silly goose!_ she scolded herself, but read it yet again, before throwing it furiously onto her desk. To spend yet another night tossing and turning because of _him._ Worse than before. Since as soon as she closed her eyes, she felt his lips on hers again. Almost as if it happened for real. While somewhere in the back of her mind, his voice kept whispering the three most stupid words in the world. _Damnit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARYA
> 
> Why would Arya suddenly trust Sansa and tell her about the kiss and everything? Well, at this point there is just no one else left she could turn to. 
> 
> Her brothers and old friends are all in the North. Her two best friends in King’s Landing are Gendry and Ned. So, she can hardly discuss her Gendry trouble with them. Especially since Ned still refuses to see her and naturally Arya doesn’t want to hurt Ned’s feelings any further. And Myrcella being Gendry’s sister, is no option, either. Yes, they're friends, but Arya knows if she and Gendry would fall out with each other, Myrcella would side with her brother (as Arya would, if things were the other way around). The same goes for Tommen and Renly. And Trystane is no option, either. He has to side with Myrcella and Ned. And Loras is tied to Renly and Margaery. 
> 
> And her mother is no option either, she almost never understands how Arya feels. They’re just too different. And so are the ways they came to fall in love. Cat got used to being with Eddard and because he's a good and kind man, Cat ‘grew to love him’. That is not the same as being attracted to someone at first sight and falling in love because of that attraction. What Cat and Ned Stark have is something entirely differently. 
> 
> And discussing her feelings for Gendry with her father is no option for Arya, either. Even a tomboy daddy’s girl like her would eventually come to a point where things in her life happen that she can’t tell her father. Or at least that happens to most girls in real life (and that is why I made Arya keep her relationship with Gendry a secret from her father). 
> 
> So, who's left for Arya to turn to now!? An old tomcat and her sister!
> 
> And Arya knows she loves Gendry. But she also knows she can’t be with him without giving up a huge part of herself. So, she really needs someone to know what’s going on. Thus, her suddenly blurting out everything to Sansa, is a bit like in canon, when Arya reveals her true identity to Gendry. She just needed someone else but herself to know the truth, to unburden her mind somewhat. Someone to know her fears and inner struggles. 
> 
> And luckily Sansa starts falling in love now herself. So, having her head in the clouds herself, makes Sansa more forgiving to Arya being a troublemaker and she now even understands somehow why Arya was recklessly sneaking around with Gendry unchaperoned.
> 
> SANSA
> 
> To some of you, it may seem a bit rushed that Sansa now (two weeks since the tourney) already forgave Arya for ‘stealing’ Gendry. But as I tried to make clear earlier in the story, Sansa didn’t love Gendry. She had a bit of a crush on him and had mistaken that for love. But now she comes to realise, it was not. And maybe some of you also think it rushed, that she within two weeks developed feelings for a guy she doesn’t even know.
> 
> But I think, if all the bad canon-stuff wouldn’t happen to Sansa, I think deep down she would remain an absolute hopeless romantic and her favourite songs would still be same ones from when she was eleven. At 18/19, as Sansa is now in this story, she would have outgrown her silliness and naivety.
> 
> Arya just didn’t fully acknowledge that until now, even though, she had known Sansa was playing dumb to protect herself from Margaery. So, I think a grown up Sansa would be would be smart enough to see behind the smiling facades of Margaery, Cersei, Joffrey and would have heard Littlefinger can’t be trusted, even if the bad canon-things hadn’t happened to her. 
> 
> But when it comes to love, with her never having been in love before, I think she would still be quite dreamily, hoping to find a man like the knights from her songs, who would do everything to win her heart. So, I believe, if one of her suitors would actually do something really romantic, she would quickly swoon over him, even before he reveals his face and name. Especially if someone honest and trustworthy as Ned assured her, her mystery man is someone kind and a suitable match.
> 
> ARYA & SANSA’S MYSTERIOUS SUITOR
> 
> Arya is more wary of romantic feelings than Sansa, so she's totally skeptical about this mysterious suitor, especially since she knows how quickly Sansa believes to be in love, even if she isn’t. Only this time Sansa will be, but Arya doesn’t know that (yet).
> 
> Also, Arya is extremely protective of the people she loves and so naturally she's worried about Sansa and fears the guy were some creep. Or some arsehole, just playing with Sansa’s feelings. Or worse, that Joffrey and Margaery might be behind it, like that they maybe pay someone to fool Sansa, to get back at her for not siding with them. 
> 
> And also, this worrying about Sansa keeps Arya’s mind from dealing with her own feelings and the fact, that she will either have to give up her dreams/wishes or she would have to give up Gendry. But still, her concern about the mysterious suitor is real.


	16. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After hearing the crown prince snuck around alone and unchaperoned with his daughter, Ned Stark isn't exactly happy. And even though, he knows it's Arya's fault as much as Gendry's, Lord Stark wonders once more if that's a man worthy of his daughter. And comes to a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION! This is not (yet) the final chapter ;) The title "The End" as usual only refers to something said in this chapter. 
> 
> About this chapter: As mentioned in the previous chapter's notes, this one was supposed to be part of chapter 15 "The Most Stupid Words in The World" but I split that in two, since it would have been too long otherwise. So, that is why a lot in this chapter still is about Arya's and Gendry's secret relationship being revealed and how people react to it.

Come morning, Cayn and Desmond informed her, Gendry’s men had arrived to pick up her ‘delivery’. _Shit._ She had completely forgotten about it and had to improvise. Opening her smallest trunk, she pulled out its contents – mostly clothes – threw them over her shoulders and stuffed the gowns from the tourney sloppily inside; so the two household guards could carry it downstairs, with her following behind. _To make sure her Lady Mother wouldn’t keep them_. Though, seeing the wall-hanging across her father’s solar back in place, made her stop in her track abruptly. _What the …!?_ For a flash she just stared at the damn thing, before she pulled the fabric forcefully aside. Only to find the secret door behind all boarded-up. _Of course_ , she huffed and continued her way down to see the two Baratheon men carrying her trunk away over the yard.

After wishing her dresses, _good riddance!_ she took a deep breath and went to the dining hall. _To hear her parents’ great plans for her_ , she thought cynically. Yet, seeing her mother’s face rather sullen, while her father’s looked actually content, caused a wary frown grow onto her own. _This was strange._ She sat down at the table, and put a piece of bread and some fruits onto her plate; more to keep her hands busy but of actual appetite. “I’ve come to a decision.” her father eventually spoke, “To put an end to the rumours and improper meetings,” _This was it. He’d want her to marry Gendry. Or Ned. Or worse … someone else!_ Arya clenched her fists under the table, preparing herself to object and rant, so she didn’t really hear him say, “I’m sending you home!” Well, she did hear it, but it was so unexpected, it took her a moment to process. To understand. And when she finally did, she blurted confused, “And how exactly would that stop the rumours!?”

“ _It won’t!_ ” her mother growled, “It would even fuel the gossip. Especially if you leave before Prince Gendry returns-” but her husband disagreed, “Cat, I’m not waiting until actually something happens between them!” “I can go home!?” Arya interrupted incredulously, “ _For real, now?_ ” “Yes,” Ned Stark confirmed, “you’re going home. For real, I promise! And if the crown prince means to court you still, he’s welcome to visit you in Winterfell. Chaperoned by Robb and Bran, though!” _Seven hells, no! That fool would probably even do that …_

“And what if he takes it as an insult!?” Lady Stark objected. “How could he possibly feel insulted by that!? It’s basic courtship rules-” Eddard Stark countered, making Lady Catelyn roll her eyes, “He’s a prince, used to get what he wants, Ned!” Yet, her husband retorted angrily, “Then it’s past time he learns not getting everything he wants!” before adding somewhat calmer, “And it’s high time he sees some more of the Seven Kingdoms anyway!” “Ned, this isn’t about reason and politics-” Lady Stark tried once more, but her husband remained unwavering, “My decision is final, Cat!” he proclaimed, “Arya’s going home and Jory is already looking for a passage to White Harbour-” “Wait, I’m going by ship!? No, I’m not leaving without my stallion!” Arya objected outraged.

Although, her father instantly appeased, explaining, she and five Stark guards would travel by vessel, while Harwin and four more men would take her steed home on the Kingsroad, Arya wasn’t swayed at first. Until she realised, this was the perfect opportunity to see if life at sea was as adventurous as the stories claimed – and most of all, to find out if she was fit for it. She had heard of people stricken with seasickness for their whole trip. And though, Arya had always been convinced she could handle a bit of rough sea, she never had the chance to prove it. _But now she would. Yes, she would keep a straight face no matter the state of the sea!_ Hugging her father fiercely, she beamed with joy. As she hadn’t in over a moon’s turn. “Thank you, for letting me finally go home!” she whispered. _She would be home in no time. And would return with her very own sailor’s story._ It put her in such a good mood, she even let Sansa persuade her into joining her and Myrcella on their stroll with Ser Lucas and Trystane in the gardens.

And two hours later, Arya strode contently towards the ivy-covered pavilions in the mid-level gardens, where her sister and the other ladies at waiting met to do their needlework. Of course, she noticed the looks she got as soon as she had left the Tower of the Hand; at first it was only servants eying her curiously and huddling together. _But she didn’t care. She would be home soon. And that was all that mattered_. But naturally, servants weren’t the only ones whispering and adding their own yarn to Littlefinger’s tale. In a hallway close to the gardens, Margaery’s vultures spotted her and felt the urgent need to tail her. Probably hoping, Gendry leaving for Storm’s End were just ruse, and they could catch them in the act. _Literally_. Unfortunately though, these women couldn’t just follow her in silence. They got louder and bolder with their teasing and speculating, about why Arya ‘of a sudden’ wore men’s clothes. Clothes, that clearly didn’t fit her. And how she had come into possession of them. If they were Gendry’s. If he had given them to her, so she could hide something, “… ‘like a swelling belly maybe!?” _Seven hells!?_

Running out of patience, Arya stopped and turned to face the damn fools, “I’ve _four_ brothers, you idiots! So, guess again, where I got the clothes from!” she snarled, “And not that it’s your damn business, but since your lives apparently depend on knowing it, here’s the answer, I JUST LIKE WEARING BREECHES… and I’m not hiding anything. _See!_ ” Arya lifted her shirt, to reveal her perfectly flat stomach; making the vultures gasp at so much naked skin. _Bloody fools_. She smirked and was about to continue her way. But hearing one of them mention moon tea, made her turn around again, “ _Seriously!?_ ” she hissed, “I never had moon tea in my whole life!” 

“Some girls are just lucky, huh!?” another woman scoffed, and a third mocked, “Or barren! Seems to run in the family-” At that, Arya lost her temper for good, “Say _that_ again and I’ll gut you, you lying bitch!” she threatened, putting her hand on Needle’s hilt, “My sister’s not barren, and neither am I! Unlike the whole lot of you, we actually can keep our legs closed!” “Unless there’s dragon skulls around, it seems!” the women mentioning the tansy tea jeered and a fourth smirked knowingly, “You were seen, _She-wolf!_ ” and another sneered, “Yeah, that poor scullion was quite perturbed seeing _him_ on top of you!” “ _What!?_ ” Arya blurted bewildered, feeling a blush creeping up her neck. _That can’t be?!_

However, just then someone growled from behind them, “MY LADIES!” making them turn around at once. To find Tommen glaring at them, “Questioning Lady Arya’s honour means questioning my brother’s! And that’s about the stupidest thing one could do at this court … not just in my presence … I think, you all recall my mother!” “Your grace, we didn’t mean-” some of the girls tried to appease, but the young prince ignored them and went on, “Both Stark sisters are close friends to me and my siblings, and I won’t have them slandered!” “Yes, your grace! Apologies, Lady Arya!” the vultures mumbled as they made way for him. “My lady, would you allow me to escort you the rest of your way?” Tommen offered Arya. “Of course, your grace, just give me a moment!” she retorted, and addressed the vultures, threatening, “I don’t care what you think or say about me! But defame my sister again, and you won’t hear me coming to cut your throats in your sleep!” “They’re all gonna die of sleep deprivation now, my lady!” the young prince jested, as they walked away from Margaery’s mindless puppets. _Hopefully_.

When they reached the pavilions, Tommen decided to join them for their stroll. To keep Arya company, so she wouldn’t disturb the two pairs of lovebirds, he claimed. But she suspected, he felt obliged to shield her from the gawking eyes, that seemed to follow her around everywhere. Though, Arya worried less about the looks she got, and more about what the vultures had said about a scullion seeing her and Gendry in the vault. _Because_ _that was true, at least partially._

Yet, eventually she forced herself to stop brooding about that, telling herself, it wouldn’t matter. _In a sennight or two she would be gone._ And instead she focussed on assessing Ser Lucas, if he could be her sister’s secret suitor or not. At first, Arya hadn’t thought him much of a romantic. _Handsome, but somewhat dull_. However, towards the end of their stroll, he suddenly disappeared between two large hedges and returned with a single red rose for Sansa. _Hmm, maybe it was him after all?_ And the look Sansa gave her then, made clear, the same thought had crossed her sister’s mind. _Seven hells, how could Sansa be so patient with her stupid mystery man?_ Arya rolled her eyes, knowing she would have set him a trap the day after the ribbon.

But her sister was a romantic thoroughly and consequently invited Ser Lucas to join them on their ride in the afternoon, even though, it originally would have been only her, Arya, Myrcella and Tommen. Who was looking forward to finally get to test his fiery new stallion against Arya’s. Telling her proudly, what a marvellous steed the king had gifted him in recognition of his bravery and accomplishments in the tourney.

So, the five of them, escorted by two Kingsguard knights, Harwin and Alyn, left the keep early in the afternoon; riding most of the way at a canter or quick trot. Until they came to an inn, where Arya and Tommen challenged Ser Jaime, Harwin and Ser Lucas to join them in their race. And for a moment, Arya had thought to let the young prince win, but then decided against coddling the future Lord of the Rock and won the race by far. But Tommen wasn’t too disappointed about that outcome, and evidently took pride in outrunning at least his uncle and Ser Lucas. It seemed, since the tourney the young prince was getting quite competitive. After they all had some refreshments, he even challenged Arya to a sparring duel, causing Myrcella to roll her eyes, “You fool will best your brothers soon enough!”

“Why wait that long!?” Tommen laughed, “Arya’s done it with Edric, and I want to know how!” and the two of them were sparring with two hazel branches before their sisters could object any further. And it was a real pleasure. Since, unlike his brothers, Tommen never held back his strength, reminding Arya once more of Bran. But the prince also turned out an eager student. So, their sparring match quickly turned into a lesson. A fun one, causing even Sansa to chuckle every once and a while, seeing Arya best Tommen with yet another trick. Though, of course her sister quickly assured, “You’re doing great, your grace! Our brothers know her moves thoroughly and she still finds ways to best them!” _Wow, a compliment from Sansa!?_ Arya really wasn’t used to that. _But it was nice_. Actually, the whole afternoon was a delight, and a welcome distraction from what had occurred with the vultures; and with Gendry the day before. But it also made Arya realise, _This, spending time with her southern friends, she’d soon miss dearly._

But only later that day, at night abed, she fully began to realise what going home would actually mean. At supper, Eddard Stark had informed his wife and daughters, the vessel taking Arya to White Harbour would leave in nine days’ time. And that had made her departure suddenly shockingly real. Arya had wanted to go home, ever since she had stepped out of that carriage half a year ago. But now that she finally could, she realised rather painfully what she would leave behind. Her father and mother. She wouldn’t see them again, _for who knows how long!? Years, if the king didn’t drop dead of a sudden._ And Sansa. _Would she ever see her sister again? What if she married a man living far off the coast and Kingsroad? Like some knight from the mountains surrounding the Eyrie._ No matter how annoying Sansa could be … _she’d miss her!_ Especially now, after they finally started to get along. _She didn’t want to say goodbye to her sister for good_.

 _And Ned … seven hells!_ She was running out of time to make amends. If he couldn’t forgive her within the next eight days, _she’d loose his friendship forever._ He was a lord, he couldn’t stay in the capital forever. He would eventually find a bride and return to Starfall, to start a family and to rule his people. _And then all damn Seven Kingdoms would lie between him and her, and she would never see him again._

 _And what about Myrcella, Trystane and Tommen? Would she ever see them again!? Or Jeyne?_ Vayon Poole evidently hoped for his daughter to find a good husband here at court. Or maybe Jeyne would go and live with Sansa and her husband _… And Balerion, with him it would be goodbye forever_ … the feisty tom was just too old. _And Renly and Loras, she wouldn’t even get to say goodbye to them!_ They had left for Storm’s End early in the morning _._ And Arya doubted she would ever see Brienne and Edric again, or Hot Pie and Lommy … or Elinor, looking absolutely stunning in those dresses.

 _And Gendry_. To him she wouldn’t get to say goodbye, either. _But that was for the best!_ She hadn’t known what to say to him for most parts of the previous day … _So, how could she possibly say goodbye to him!? No, this was perfect._ She would be gone before he returned, and they both could move on with their lives. She in Winterfell, with her brothers _… and he …_ He would find someone else to marry, to hold hands with, to kiss … _No, she didn’t want to think about that_. Yet, as usual, her mind refused to obey. Leaving her tossing and turning in frustration, and something else. _It hurt._ Badly. In her chest. And when she closed her eyes, she could feel his breath against her skin and his lips colliding with hers again. _Gently, yet determined._ But instead of just staring at each other afterwards and she then panicking, his face would turn into the hurt expression from the tourney, demanding to know, “ _Why!?_ ” And she had no answer to that, except, _I’ve to go home, where I belong!_

Opening her eyes again, Arya huffed and stared at the canopy above her. _How was this possible!? She finally got what she wanted!_ Her parents accepted, she didn’t belong in the south. _She should be happy. Celebrating. She had won!_ Yet, she didn’t feel like it. She felt miserable. Knowing, she would leave her parents and sister behind … and would lose her two best friends. Both at once. And one of them … would she ever feel this way again? _Hardly! No one in the North had those eyes … or that smile!_ But she would see her brothers and Nymeria again, she tried to cheer herself up, _and maybe Jon and Benjen could come visit!? Or perhaps Robb would allow her and Bran to visit them? Yes, she’d talk Robb into that! Seeing Jon would help …_ help her forgetting Gendry. _Because she had to … if she ever wanted to feel whole again_ , Arya realised at some point after midnight.

She had felt slightly better the next day and had decided, _there was nothing she could do about Gendry_ , but she could make the most of her remaining time in the capital. So, while her sister had spent the morning strolling in the gardens with a new suitor – a Ser Podrick from the Westerlands – and doing needlework with the other ladies afterwards, Arya had drafted a message for Ned. She had thought of telling him she would be leaving in eight days’ time, but then had decided against it. _Applying pressure was the last thing she wanted_. But that had made the task all the more difficult, and had inevitably led to heaps of scrunched up parchment on the floor of her chamber. She even had to steal some more parchment from her father’s solar, until she finally had given up. Realising, no matter how well-spoken she phrased her apologies, _it depended all on Ned_. _How willing he was to read and accept them_. Thus, she had taken her last draft and had copied it in her finest handwriting, before tasking Desmond to deliver it. Leaving Arya less than an hour to practice her sword fighting, before her sister had returned to change clothes for their afternoon picnic with Myrcella, Trystane, Tommen and yet another suitor of Sansa’s.

Closing the door behind herself, Sansa announced, “You’re in trouble!” “ _Why?_ ” Arya furrowed her brow, yet, didn’t halt in her water dancing, “I didn’t do anything!” “Are you sure about that!?” her sister inquired, raising her brows, “The Tyrell cousins tell everyone you would’ve showed them your naked belly yesterday.” “Yeah, because those idiots thought I were with child!” Arya scoffed, making Sansa roll her eyes, “Oh, Arya! You furnished them a fit occasion!” she scolded, “ _Those idiots_ swear now black and blue, they would’ve seen your swelling belly and you would’ve threatened to murder them, if they’d tell anyone.” _What the fuck!?_ “They’re twisting everything!” Arya snapped outraged, “I’m not with child! I … we didn’t do _that!_ ”

“I know, Arya! You’re reckless, but not _that_ stupid.” Sansa placated, before reprimanding, “But you should’ve known how things are here at court! Everyone’s going crazy now about who’s got you with child. Naturally, most suspect Gendry, they think he means to marry you to fix his mistake. And Ned’s the next likely candidate. But they’re not the only ones. Myrcella’s ladies heard all kind of names, even Trystane’s!” “ _What!?_ ” Arya’s jaw dropped, “I never saw him without Myrcella!” “Well, someone obviously wants to get back at her, too.” Sansa proclaimed. “Will you tell Mother!?” Arya asked, fearing Catelyn Tully would now make her stay until those rumours abated. “No.” Sansa sighed, “But she will hear it eventually, and so will Gendry, when he arrives in Storm’s End!” “ _No!_ What if he comes back!?” Arya blurted wide-eyed, “ _Before I’m gone!?_ ”

“That’s probably for the best.” Sansa retorted, “Joffrey doesn’t fear Myrcella and Tommen as he fears him! And the queen’s probably laughing up her sleeve right now, this’s more than she could’ve hoped for to get rid of you! So, Gendry’s the only one who can put an end to the slander … well, some of it!” “ _How!_?” Arya demanded warily. “Well, a betroth-” “ _NO!_ I’m going home!” Arya snapped defiantly and Sansa snorted, “Oh, you’re so going home, even if you wouldn’t want to! When Father hears _this_ , he’ll want you back in the North as soon as possible!” before she added worriedly, “I just hope, he won’t make me leave as well!” “No, I’ll talk to him!” Arya promised, knowing, _or else Sansa would hate her forever!_ But first they had to get ready for the picnic, or else their parents would have known right away something was amiss.

Half an hour later, they had met with the others at the stables, where Myrcella and Tommen had invited Arya to join them and Trystane in their carriage; leaving Jeyne to chaperone Sansa and Ser Harrold Hardyng in the second one. Though, it had turned out, they hadn’t just done so to give her sister some time alone with her suitor. Their carriage had barely left the keep when Myrcella had addressed the new rumours and unfounded defamations. She and Tommen had assured, they would have asked the king and queen to intervene, promising, the smear campaign would soon find its end. Though, hearing that, Arya had seen herself forced to tell them about her departure – and thus there were no need for their parents to bother themselves with silly rumours.

But naturally, that had come as a surprise to her friends, and for a moment things had been rather awkward. So, Arya had quickly added, all of them were welcome to visit Winterfell at any time, allowing Myrcella to regain her wits, “Of course, understandable, and after all, you always said you wanted to return north …” the princess had tried to placate, but Arya had seen the disappointment on her friend’s face. Myrcella had unmistakably hoped she would eventually give in … and marry Gendry.

Tommen on the other hand, had seemed to forgive Arya quickly. By the time they had reached their picnic site by a small pond, the young prince had been absolutely excited at the prospect to get to see the North. And had hit the Stark sisters and Jeyne with questions, about the direwolves and Winterfell. The Wall, the Night’s Watch and the Wildlings. The Neck, the Crannogmen and lizard lions. And of course, the Boltons and the Dreadfort. Much to the chagrin of Ser Harrold. But Arya hadn’t minded, since she hadn’t liked the Vale knight at all. _He was no romantic secret suitor. Just another arrogant, pompous prick. An absolute arse. Ser Harry the Arse. All but worthy of her sister._ So, she had made sure, Sansa had stayed engaged in their conversation about the North throughout the picnic; rather than listening to the Arse’s boasting.

However, upon their return to the Tower of the Hand, the rumours about Arya had already reached their parents’ ears. Resulting in Catelyn Tully once more firing questions at her, until Sansa had eventually intervened, assuring as well, Gendry wouldn’t dishonour a lady. And as predicted, their father had been about to send Arya home on the Kingsroad right away, along with Sansa. But together with their mother they had managed to persuade him to stick to their original plan; with only Arya going home, aboard the ship to White Harbour.

Nevertheless, Eddard Stark had enough of hearing slander about his daughters and had gone to the king with the matter. But since Myrcella and Tommen had already asked him to intervene, Arya hadn’t expected her father’s request to make much of a difference. She had known anyway, unless the old drunk would declare spreading lies about Stark girls to be punishable by death, not even the king could stop the rumour mill completely. The scandalmongers would only stop on their own. _Eventually, when a new rumour went around_. Like after her arrival. Although, she had assumed, it were tricky to come up with something better than the crown prince dishonouring and getting the Hand’s daughter with child, she had no doubt the gossipmongers would manage, sooner than later. Especially, when she was back at home, out of their sight _and not married off to some minor lord_ , to conceal her alleged ruin. So, she had decided to ignore the rubbish from now on, and to just focus on making the most of her last days in the capital.

The next day, they had gone sailing with the royal siblings and Trystane, and to Arya’s relief, her sister hadn’t invited the Arse to join them but Ser Podrick. The Westerlands knight of a lesser branch of House Payne was of age with Sansa, but a rather quiet and shy man. Still, Arya had liked him from the start, and hadn’t once felt the need to sabotage his wooing. He had surprised both sisters with his knowledge of the North, its great houses and history, and unlike Ser Harry he had gotten along well with the rest of their sailing party. When they had dropped anchor at the small island, Arya had visited with Renly and Loras before, Myrcella had suggested to go swimming. And Ser Podrick hadn’t minded to join Trystane and Tommen on the other beach. No doubt, the Arse would’ve ranted at the prospect of leaving Sansa out of sight for half the day. But Ser Podrick had only warned her of the Bay’s treacherous currents.

So, unsurprisingly, Sansa had declared the quiet knight a likely candidate for her mysterious suitor, “Maybe this way it’s easier for him to express his feelings!?” and Arya couldn’t disagree. In fact, she had thought Ser Podrick the most likely candidate so far. And Myrcella had concurred, “It’s definitively someone shy, or else he would’ve revealed himself by now!” Causing Sansa to suggest again to leave him messages at the stump, “Just one question at a time! Simple ones, answerable with ‘yes’ and ‘no’… like, if he’s from the Westerlands. Do you think he’d like that …or would he feel pressured?”

“I’d worry more about someone seeing you plant the notes!” Arya had warned, but Myrcella had suggested grinning mischievously, “If Ned knows him, so does Trystane! We could be your messengers, Sansa, and no one will ever know!” “You’d do that for me!? Oh, Myrcella, that’d be wonderful!” Sansa had exclaimed, heads in the clouds. Making Arya roll her eyes, “Hopefully, Ser Mystery won’t turn out someone old and ugly!” But of course, her sister had dismissed that thought right away, “Nonsense! Remember, Ned thinks him a suitable match!?” and Myrcella had agreed.

Causing Arya to realise how much she missed Ned. Myrcella was wonderful and apart from Nymeria, her first and only female friend. But this afternoon had proven once again, personality-wise the princess had more in common with Sansa than with her. _They were typical girls. And she was not._ Unmistakably, Arya couldn’t understand her sister’s need to over-analyse her mysterious suitor. But Myrcella could; and had even seemed to enjoy it. Unlike her. _She just didn’t get it_. On one hand, Sansa had desperately wanted to know who her secret suitor was, but instead of choosing the easy way – just having someone follow him – her sister played along with his weird charade. _It made no sense. Not to her. It was silly, so … girlish._ She couldn’t relate to that. _And Ned would understand_.

So, she had decided to change her tactics and take a leaf out of Gendry’s book. For the remainder of her days in King’s Landing, she would invite Ned to join her on her activities with Sansa and Myrcella … and to suggest to go riding alone, just in case he didn’t want their friends to witness her clumsy attempts to get him to talk again. _But he needed to know they were running out of time …_ _lest he actually was interested in saving their friendship._

However, her plans to invite Ned to go riding in the morning, had gone up in smoke upon their return to the keep. Where her father had handed her a scroll of parchment. For a flash she had hoped, it were from Ned. But her father’s stern expression and her mother’s alarmed look had made clear, _it wasn’t_. Though, seeing the seal had even made Arya swallow. _Fuck_. Her gut instinct had instantly raised alarm, and she couldn’t help but shoot her father a worried glance, before she unrolled the message. Only to swallow loudly again. _Seven hells!_

Come morning, her mother had woken her way too early – so she could have a bath. They had argued for almost an hour if or if not Arya should reconsider wearing dresses; and both Sansa and their father had sided with Lady Catelyn on this. But Arya had known, _she needed to prepare for battle_. So, she had chosen her finest shirt and breeches, which had no holes and thus could be considered as good as new. But naturally, they still were somewhat ill-fitting, since Bran had been almost a head taller when she had stolen them before her departure from Winterfell. And of course, her family couldn’t talk her out of leaving Needle and her dagger behind, bringing Catelyn Tully even closer to hysteria. _But_ _anything else would send the wrong message_.

So, Arya left the Hand’s Tower, her hand on Needle’s hilt, reciting her dancing master’s words in her mind. _Calm as still water. Fierce as a wolverine_. While courtiers and servants alike whispered behind her back as soon she came into view, their eyes following her through the keep, all the way to the small terrace near the royal quarters. Where two Kingsguard knights stopped her, “My lady, we can’t let you pass wearing those!” _Of course._ Arya shot the woman standing at the balustrade and facing Blackwater Bay a glance and smirked. _She wasn’t afraid of Cersei Lannister, and she wanted her to know that_. Thus, she announced loud enough, “Rest assured, the queen has nothing to fear from me. But if it makes her grace and you sers feel better, I’ll of course leave my blades in your good care!” She removed her sword-belt confidently, as if an audience with the queen was just something from her daily schedule and walked past the guards, clasping her hands behind her back. _She was the She-wolf of Winterfell. She could take on a lioness. And surely needed no blade to kill one … if she wanted to._

“Your grace.” she greeted and curtsied, when Cersei Lannister turned around, displaying her usual self-satisfied aloof smile, “Lady Arya, I’m glad you could arrange to meet me at such short notice.” “Of course, your grace, it’s an honour!” Arya retorted smilingly, intent not to let her guard down. _This was a test, if not a trap. And she wasn’t willing to fall for it_. “I imagine, my invitation came to no surprise for you … you probably expected it!” the queen smiled, though, her tone gave away the real meaning. _The lioness was about to bare her teeth. Careful now!_ “My queen, I already told their graces, Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen, there is no need for you to bother yourself with those rumours. They’re untrue and I’m sure they’ll abate as soon as I am gone.” Arya assured; and apparently caught the queen by surprise.

“ _You’re leaving!?_ ” Cersei Lannister cocked her brow, before she narrowed her eyes. Showing her true colours, she demanded, “Does my son know of that!?” Realising, mentioning her departure hadn’t the desired effect to appease the queen, Arya retorted, “Um, that depends on which one you’re referring to, your grace. Prince Tomm-” “I’m talking about the crown prince, Lady Arya!” the older woman hissed, “The one you’re playing like a fiddle ever since you stepped foot into this keep!” “I didn’t-” Arya attempted to object, but the queen cut her off, snarling, “Don’t take me for an idiot!” “No, your grace, of course not!” Arya countered, trying to stay calm, “I didn’t mean for this to happen! I didn’t know, he’d-” But the queen interrupted her again, scoffing, “You really think, you’re the first one, little dove!?” “The first one of what!?” Arya snapped, and added outraged, “And I beg your pardon, your grace, but I’m no little dove!” “The first one to catch his eye, _She-wolf!_ ” the queen sneered. _There we go!_

“ _No_.” Arya countered, regaining control over her temper, “And I won’t be the last!” _About time to get used to it, lioness!_ she added in her mind, before she continued, “Is that what you’re implying, your grace!? That he’ll forget me as soon as I’m gone?” “It’s just the truth, little wolf!” the queen put on her false smile again, faking compassion, “He’s my son and I love him with all my heart! But like all men, he’s weak … eventually, he’ll give in to temptation, it’s in his blood … _it’s not his fault!_ I know, you don’t want to believe that now, _I understand!_ I was little older than you, when I married Robert, all dashing and handsome, like Gendry now! _I was so smitten,_ but it faded away quickly … and It’ll be same for you!” “Your grace, I fear there’s been a misunderstanding!” Arya retorted, assuring, “The sooner he forgets me, the better! That’s all I want.”  

For a moment, Cersei Lannister studied her in silence, before she suddenly hissed, “Who’re you trying to fool, Lady Arya? Me, or yourself!?” _Huh?_ “Your grace, _I swear_ , I’ve no interest in marrying your son!” Arya assured again, but the queen didn’t buy it, “I’ll leave you that, _you’re good!_ ” she scoffed, “I’ve been watching those little whores, besieging him for nearly eight years … but I made sure he saw right through their charades. _Especially_ _that Tyrell’s!_ And when your sister came to court, _I was so damn proud of him!_ Not even the great northern beauty, lovely Sansa Stark, could make him fall under her spell … I guess that was when I let my guard down. I watched you, when you came to court … but you never engaged with him, and so I assumed, you didn’t want to get in your sister’s way. _I should’ve seen it coming_. _I should’ve known_ , you’re smarter than Margaery and your perfect sister! _I should’ve known_ , _it’d be Lyanna reborn to steal my son!_ ”

“ _I’m not Lyanna!_ ” Arya countered, anger boiling up inside of her, “And I’m not stealing _anything_ from you! Let alone your son, your grace!” “ _Will you just stop it!_ ” the queen hissed, “You fooled me long enough, _I admit it!_ But not anymore. I know about your secret meetings!” “ _Nothing happened!_ I meant what I said at the tourney, I don’t wanna be his queen! It’s just rumours and gossip, fuelled by Littlefinger’s lies …” Arya objected, starting to have trouble to recall her manners, “your grace!” “ _Is it!?_ ” The queen snarled, “Are you telling me, you didn’t kiss him down in the vault!? _That damn bloody kiss seemed to haunt her for the rest of her life._ “EXACTLY!” Arya blurted, fuming. “Then, _my lady_ ,” The queen smirked, pausing to enjoy whatever knowledge she had that Arya didn’t, before she went on, “you just called _the future king_ a liar!” _What!?_ Arya froze, before she stammered in disbelief, “He … _told you!?_ ”

“No, _you_ just did!” Cersei Lannister announced triumphantly. _Seven hells!_ “You didn’t _really_ think, the king and I’d sit back and watch our son and heir slandered _… because of you!_ ” the queen no longer hid her hatred, “Did you really think, I wouldn’t look into it!? That I wouldn’t do _anything_ to protect my son _… my firstborn son!?_ ” For a moment, Arya was speechless and her mind blank. Until she regained her wits and snorted furiously, “Fine, there was a kiss.” _Happy now!?_ “But it doesn’t matter, it won’t change _anything_. I’m leaving, and he can marry … _whoever else_ , someone of your choosing for all I care, your grace!” The queen studied her closely, yet, remained silent. Probably to make Arya feel uncomfortable and blurt out more secrets. _But it didn’t work. There were no more left_. At least none concerning anyone of the royal family. So, she just returned the queen’s frigid stare. Well, Arya’s was more a defiant glare, until she eventually asked annoyed, “Can I go now, your grace!?” “Yes, of course, Lady Arya!” Cersei Lannister smirked, both satisfied and dismissively, “I’ve got what I wanted …” and turned away from her, before she was even done with her curtsy.

Fuming, Arya snarled at Ser Meryn, “See, didn’t harm a hair on your mistress’ head!” ripping her sword belt from his grip and stormed off. _Fucking Lannister bitch. High time to leave this damn shithole … or else she’d reconsider harming hairs on certain heads._

But of course, first she had to face her parents and Sansa; who surprisingly had declined to go riding with the others. And had seemed worried, when Arya had stormed into the dining hall, “ _What a bitch!_ ” Causing their mother to scold her foul mouth, before demanding to know what the audience had been about. Thus, Arya had given her family a quick outline, but again had left out the part about the kiss. She had known, she had to tell them eventually _…_ _Just not now._ She hadn’t had the nerves for that, yet … she desperately needed to hit something. _Someone!_ So, even though, their Lady Mother hadn’t been satisfied with what she had given away about the audience, their father had allowed her and Sansa to go riding with Harwin and Cayn; and let Arya spar with the two household guards on a riverbank at the Blackwater Rush. Calming her down enough, so she could give her sister a more detailed report.

Though unsurprisingly, Sansa had scolded her for lying to the queen and rolled her eyes over Arya losing her temper, but at least had admitted, Cersei was a master at provoking people. But unfortunately, her sister had confirmed her gut instinct. _The queen was up to something. She wanted to get back at her._ And unmistakably blamed her for everything – both, for the stain on Gendry’s otherwise snow-white reputation and for him looking like a fool at court now. But the two sisters hadn’t been able to figure out what exactly Cersei Lannister had in mind for Arya.

So, she had challenged Harwin and Cayn to spar with her a second time. This time both at once, to get the rest of her tension and rage out of her system and to exhaust Arya enough to allow her fall asleep easier that night.

The next morning a new scroll had arrived. Only this one had summoned her Lord Father to an audience with the king. _Great,_ _the Lannister bitch undoubtedly spilled the beans to her husband_. About the stupid kiss, and her unladylike behaviour during her audience. Knowing what was coming for her, Arya had spent the morning practicing in her room. Practicing to kill a bloody lioness. Her craven cub. A lying mockingbird. And a rose in viper’s clothing.

However, her father’s audience had taken much longer than hers. Eddard Stark had been with the king for nearly two hours and when he finally returned, he was fuming – even more than Arya had the previous day. In fact, he was more furious than she had ever seen him before. But instead of yelling at her, for having lied to him again, he ordered Sansa and Arya to spend the afternoon away from the keep and retreated to his solar. Alone. Leaving his wife and his daughters speechless. _What happened!?_

So, Arya and Sansa spent their afternoon riding with Ser Podrick and Harwin. But since both sisters worried about their father’s unusual behaviour, it was a rather silent and awkward ride. They told the poor Westerlands knight, it had nothing to do with him. But Arya could still see the doubt in the shy man’s face. _He was afraid of Sansa losing interest_. Nevertheless, both sisters were eventually so deep in thought, mirroring unwittingly each other in chewing their lower lips, that Harwin felt the need to intervene, “Girls, I’ve known your father all my life. I’ve seen him angry before, even _that_ angry. He probably just had a disagreement with the king about something important. We all know, Robert’s infamous for his stubbornness. But eventually, they calm down and sort it out. You don’t need to worry!” “But then why send us away from the keep!?” Sansa asked. _Yeah, that worried her the most, too_. And Harwin had no answer to that.

But surprisingly Ser Podrick had. “Lord Stark obviously means to protect you!” he suggested, “Maybe something’s happening in the afternoon, that he doesn’t want you to see. Like an execution?!” “Could be!” Harwin agreed, evidently grateful for the young knight helping him out. But Arya’s instinct told her, _No, that wasn’t it!_ Nonetheless, she clung to the idea. Well, for a moment. Until she realised, if it really were an execution, then her father’s anger could only mean, he disagreed with the king’s verdict. Meaning, the condemned most likely were innocent. _And she didn’t want someone innocent to die_.

So, a part of Arya was glad, when they returned to the keep in the evening and didn’t hear anything about an execution. But the bigger part knew, her gut instinct had been right. _Whatever happened, it had to do with her or Sansa!_ And her sister knew as well, the moment they heard their parents had already retreated to the Hand’s chamber. As they always did, when they discussed something concerning one of their children in private. _Great. The queen had probably demanded her execution! Or banishment. Seven hells! What if that bitch wanted her to join the Silent Sisters, for making her precious son go rogue!? THAT would explain her father’s rage … damn Lannister bitch!_

Arya had been outraged and once again had trouble finding sleep. But for a change Gendry hadn’t been the cause. _Well, technically he was …_ _as always_ , though, this time it had been mainly his vicious mother. But eventually Arya had fallen asleep, after repeatedly vowing _she would never become a Silent Sister!_

Nonetheless, the real reason for Eddard Stark’s unfamiliar mood hadn’t been revealed until the day after. His unusual behaviour had continued, since he had missed out breakfast with his wife and daughters. Due to a Small Council meeting, Lady Catelyn had said, claiming, an urgent political matter would needed to be sorted right away. But once more Arya’s instinct had warned her, _her Lady Mother was lying!_ Thus, she had decided to confront her parents, as soon as her father would return from his ominous meeting. _She was so done with being treated like a child! Constantly being left in the dark about everything that mattered_ …

But Lord Stark hadn’t returned. Not before she had left to go riding with Myrcella and Trystane; while Sansa had met with yet another suitor of hers, some Ser Raynald Westerling. However, by the time they returned to the keep, they noticed instantly something was amiss. Arya had gotten used the looks the gossipmongers gave her since Gendry had left, but now literally everyone was staring at them. She exchanged a confused look with Myrcella and Trystane, who apparently had no idea what was going on, either. And then at the stables, Jory, Desmond, and Cayn awaited them with stern faces, so Harwin demanded alarmed, “What is it!?” But Jory only retorted, “ I don’t think, we should be the one telling. I’m sorry, my lady!” _Seven hells_.

Arya’s ears began buzzing. _Something was wrong_. Although, all her instincts told her to run, she couldn’t move. _Badly wrong_. But Harwin reacted swiftly and pulled her off her steed, instructing their stable boys, “Lads, take care of the horses!” before he turned to Arya, “Let’s find your father and mother!” and led her quickly to the Tower of the Hand, accompanied by the other three Stark guards.

Both her parents and Sansa awaited her in her chamber; worry, compassion and even something like fear in their eyes. “I’m sorry, Arya!” her father stated, and for a flash her heart stopped, fearing someone had died. _Jon? Robb? Bran? Rickon? Nymeria? Uncle Benjen?_ “I think it’s best you sit down!” her father suggested and approached her. “ _No!_ ” all her senses told her, she didn’t want to sit down for this. “I need you to stay calm now! What we’re about to tell you, you won’t like …” Though, relieved apparently no one had died, she narrowed her eyes and moved her hand instinctively to Needle’s hilt, but her father grabbed her by the shoulders, “I’m telling you this first, for I fear, you won’t hear it, if I tell you afterwards. Arya, _I promise_ , we’ll figure something out! This is not the end. Not the final decision. _I won’t allow it!_ That I swear, by the old gods and the new! Do you hear me, Arya!?” “WHAT. IS. IT!?” she demanded, her body starting to tremble with fury, “ _WHAT did the Lannister bitch do!?_ ” she demanded, as her grip on Needle’s hilt tightened.

Sighing, her father nodded, giving in, “This morning, the king announced your betrothal to Gendry.” “ _WHAT!?_ ” she yelled, “ _Over my dead body!_ ” “Arya, please, listen, this isn’t final! Betrothals can be broken, and we will break it. If that’s what you want?” “ _Yeah, sure!?_ ” Arya snorted bitterly, and glared at her father, “Since breaking a betrothal to a Baratheon worked so well before! I know the story about Jenny and Duncan … and when I look at that ignorant fat drunk, I’m beginning to think, Lyanna maybe was better off with Rhaegar!” “ARYA!” her mother shouted outraged. “ _What, mother!?_ ” she yelled back, “Aren’t you happy you finally got what you wanted!? Your daughter will marry the future king … who cares what _I_ want!” “ARYA!” her father shook her, but she only spat, “ _It’s true!_ Her ambitions and your inability to say ‘no’ to her and your fucking friend are the reason for this whole mess! _You could’ve stayed in the North! Where you belong!_ You could’ve forbidden Mother to drag me and Sansa down here into this shithole-”

“Arya, can you _for once_ listen before you go off!” Sansa shouted, “The betrothal is your lesser problem!” baffling her, “ _What do you mean?_ ” Arya’s glance wandered from her sister to her father and to her mother, who both clearly struggled to spit the real problem out, so Sansa did it for them, “Cersei demands a wedding!”

Arya felt as if someone pulled out the rug from under her feet … only underneath there was nothing, but a bottomless abyss swallowing her whole. _No. No. No. Hells,_ _no._ “NOT EVEN OVER MY DEAD BODY!” Arya now fully lost it, and wrenched free from her father’s grip, stepping back, “You said, I could go home, _twice!_ ” “You will go home. We’ll figure something out, you just need to trust us!” her father approached her again and Catelyn Tully appeased, “The wedding’s in two moon’s turns … we still have time!” but she only stared at her mother. _Did she mean that as a comfort!?_ “TWO MOONS TURNS!? … _That’s nothing!_ ” Arya hissed, stepping back further towards her door.

“It’s enough time to talk Robert round!” Eddard Stark placated, “He’s not easy to reason with, that’s why I sent word to Gendry-” “You did _what!?_ ” Arya felt panic taking over, as her father tried to grasp her by the shoulders again, “Gendry’s a reasonable man. I’m sure, he’ll postpone the wedding!” “ _POSTPONE!?_ ” Arya yelled, and armed her father’s hands away, “ _That’s not enough!_ I want it cancelled, and the betrothal broken! _Now_ and for good.” “Arya, one step at a time!” Sansa reasoned. _But she was beyond reason now_.

Again and again, she had listened to them and given in. _And where had that gotten her!?_ Each time things had gotten worse and worse. _Literally_. No, she was done now. _With the South, the capital and all those damn liars here!_ For good and forever. “I’m leaving! Tonight. _No, I’m leaving NOW!_ ” Arya yelled, “ _I’ll go to Jon! Beyond the Wall …_ Beyond your reach and Gendry’s and the king’s and the queen’s and everyone else’s!” and tore her door open.

But of course, her parents had expected that. As Arya came to realise, seeing Jory, Desmond and Cayn blocking her way out. _NO!_ She was about to draw Needle and fight her way through, when her father pulled her into his arms, “Arya, _please, trust me!_ I’ll figure something out … and then you can go home, _as promised!_ We just have to be diplomatic about it. Robert doesn’t react well to pressure and demands, and neither does the queen … that’s why we need Gendry here!” _No, what she needed was to get away!_

So, she no longer listened to her father’s attempts to reason with her. And for the first time in her life, his embrace failed to comfort her and calm her down. _This was the end! Her end, if she didn’t find a way out … soon!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARYA
> 
> Believing she would soon return to Winterfell, Arya had to realise, not everything in the south was bad and how many southerners she actually cares about and also that returning home would mean to leave her parents and sister for an unknown amount of time and that is something she hadn’t thought about before. That is something she had ignored so far, when she talked about wanting to go home, even though she already knew how it felt, to be separated from her father for half a year, when he only took Sansa to King’s Landing at first. Plus, back then she didn’t get along with Sansa, so those six months felt like a welcome vacation from her annoying sister. But now they do get along and as Arya says, if Sansa marries someone living far away, or from a place where it isn’t easy to get to, it’s likely she never sees her again (Just think of how often Catelyn has seen Lysa after their weddings). So, Arya’s heart is suddenly really conflicted about her departure … even though, she doesn’t admit it to anyone. And don’t get me started about her realisation that her relationship with Gendry has to end, which’s existence she only just started to admit and to accept.  
> But of course fate had found a way to fuck with her plan to go home. And even though Arya knows Cersei is behind it and not Gendry or her parents … she feels somewhat betrayed by them. Especially her father, who had just days before promised her to let her go home. She lied to him about Gendry, which made him doubt her and now he can’t keep her promise and so Arya now for the first time distances herself from her beloved father and struggles to trust him. But don’t worry, that is a normal phase for a teenage daddy’s girl (she’s nearly 17 now). She starts realising her father is no perfect super-human and he starts realising she is no longer his little girl that looks up to him for guidance about everything in her life, she now is ready to choose her own path. 
> 
> SANSA
> 
> In case you wonder why all her mentioned suitors are from the Riverlands, Westerlands and the Vale, well, for once, that is because those kingdoms are closest to the capital. And of course, she wouldn’t need to be in King’s Landing to find a northern suitor, there probably aren’t any there anyway. And since Dorne is also a long way from King’s Landing, there aren’t too many Dornish noblemen at court either. It is mainly Trystane Martell and Ned Dayne and their men, that represent Dorne at court. So, that doesn’t leave many Dornish suitors for Sansa. And of course, she strictly avoids suitor’s from the Reach, since she doesn’t want to play into Margaery’s hand.  
> But now to the interesting part of Sansa’s story … Who do you think who her secret suitor is? Have you already any suspicions!? Or preferences who’d you would want her to be paired with? Let me know in the comments … 
> 
> EDDARD & CATELYN
> 
> They both now see, they caused a lot of the trouble they’re in now, themselves. Ned in not stepping up for Arya sooner, like making Catelyn slow down in her attempts to get Arya betrothed. And Catelyn realises, she pushed Arya too hard and her sneaking around in secrets was not only due to her curious and rebelling personality but also because Catelyn had her on a too short leash. If she had allowed Arya to spar with someone, she wouldn’t have needed to sneak through secret passageways and practice alone in the vaults. And even though, Cat doesn’t think the betrothal to Gendry needs to be broken, she is against such an imminent wedding. She would have wanted Arya to be betrothed first for at least a year or two. While Ned would have preferred Gendry’s first suggestion from right after the tourney. To wait another half year and then maybe betroth Arya to Gendry (or whoever else Arya likes) and then wait another 2-3 years before they are to be wed. So both Lord and Lady Stark are furious about this forced betrothal. Not just because they had not much of a say in it. They want at least the wedding to be postponed for another two years, because they both think Arya is still too young to be wed.
> 
> CERSEI 
> 
> Check the first comment under this chapter!


	17. The Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Cersei and Robert did the stupid thing and decided putting a chain on the She-wolf, in form of a betrothal and an imminent wedding, believing that would shut the gossipmongers up and save their heir's reputation (and maybe hoped, that might bend him and his lady love to their will). But they clearly underestimated Arya and her extraordinary survival instinct. She's neither lady love nor lapdog. She's not one to be bent and broken. She's a wolf. The kind of wolf that rather chews its own limb off than staying stuck in a trap ... and that's exactly what Arya does now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I decided to upload chapter 17 "The Runaway" already a day after I published chapter 16 "The End". 
> 
> And the reason for that is simple: The longer I keep completed chapters in the waiting line on my computer the bigger the chance that I start hating them so much, that I redo them again and again ... and that I really don't want to do in this story anymore. This one, I really want to come to an end now. There are max 3 chapters left to write, so naturally I want to get to the finish line now. So, I decided not to torture you with letting you wait for chapter 17 for no reason. You probably have to wait quite a while for chapter 18, and that's torture enough ;)

Finally being left alone, she stood at her window, still trembling with fury, and glared into the night. If it weren’t for the stars and full moon in the sky, some dim lit windows and the torches down in the yard, she would have stared into pitch blackness. _Caught like a mouse in a trap. A damn five storey high trap of evenly built sandstone walls._ As the wind freshened, coming from the north, angry tears ran down her cheeks. _She could’ve fled moon’s turns ago! She could’ve just rode off on one of the rides. Or snuck out through the passageway. She could’ve posed as a messenger and her stallion would’ve carried her halfway through the Crownlands before anyone would’ve noticed. So, why in the gods name had she stayed … allowing him to trap her like that!?_

She slammed her fists down onto the sill, and only then she noticed the creaking coming from the left. No, from above her. _The pulley!_ The hoist, the maids used for the water buckets; the increasing wind made its rope sway. _That was it!_ She darted to her desk. _A messenger needed a message_. And grasped a parchment and scribbled down some nonsense about that the carrier of the message should be granted safe passage all the way from the capital to Winterfell, signing it with her father’s name and sealing it with her own sigil. _The men at the gates hopefully wouldn’t know the difference_ , she told herself, before she paused. _She should at least leave a note._ With unsteady hands, she grabbed another parchment and bit her lower lip. _What should she tell them?_ she wondered, before she realised, _They wouldn’t understand, no matter what it said_. Thus, she took a deep breath and wrote, “I cannot stay. I am sorry. For everything. But I love you, and I hope one day you can forgive me. I am sorry.”

Leaving the short note on her desk for her family to find, she tiptoed to her trunks to not let Tom and Alyn outside her door know what she was up to, and packed a bundle. Spare clothes, a warm cloak, a little box with her small treasures and some coin. _Just in case_. Before she quietly put on her padded jack, the chainmail and her sword belt with Needle and the dagger. Afterwards, she slipped through the loop of her bundle and put on Theon’s old cloak. Fully dressed, she hurried back to the window, to the hoist and pulled the rope towards her, as quiet as she could. Then, she leant out of the window, to check if someone in the storeys above or below, or in the yard had noticed. Nothing happened. _Thank the gods_. She exhaled, pulled up her hood and stretched her fingers, before she grabbed the rope again and got onto the sill. Wrapping her legs around the rope, she started climbing down. _Five storeys. Four storeys. Three storeys._ Her fingers were raw and slippery from sweat. But she forced herself to tighten the grip and to go on. _Two storeys_. _One storey_. She could jump. _No._ She climbed all the way down and didn’t let go until her toes reached the gravelled ground. For a moment she kept still, observing her surroundings. Listening, if there was anyone else in the yard, except the two Stark guards around the corner. But there wasn’t.

So, Arya quickly snuck along the wall to the other side of the yard, to the doorframe, Gendry had leant against after their first race, and slipped in. From there she went straight to the stables. Only to find all three of their stable boys in her steed’s bay; two keeping watch and one fast asleep. _Fuck._ Her mother’s doing, undoubtedly. _She needed her mount!_ He was her only chance to quickly get enough distance between her and anyone chasing her. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck_. For a moment she was about to panic, close to run without her stallion. _No!_ She just needed help … _and a bit of luck._

She swiftly tiptoed away from the stables, passing the forge and the kitchens, climbing in and out of windows, and into the mid-level gardens, where she pulled her hood deep into her face and walked the rest of the way calmly. Like a real messenger would. _Calm as still water. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords_ , she prepared herself and approached the two guards. Making her voice sound as deep and confident as she could, she announced she would have a message for their lord and allowed them a quick glance at the scroll of parchment. Though, not long enough to identify her sigil. “It’s urgent and I’m instructed to hand it to the lord himself and no one else!” she claimed. And it worked. One of the men entered the door and returned with a manservant a few instants later. He led her inside and made her wait in the solar, while he disappeared through another door, only to return a moment later, lighting some candles on the desk and putting some logs onto the dying embers in the hearth.

Although, it only could have been a moment, it had felt like an eternity, until the door, the servant had disappeared through, opened again and Ned stepped out; bare-footed and his hair messy, in breeches, but his shirt only sloppily laced. “What is it?” he asked sleepily, studying her hooded figure, and furrowed his brow. So, she pulled her cloak back, just enough for him to see Needle and showed him her message. Bewildered, he ordered his servant rather gruffly to leave them, before he turned to her, demanding, “What are you doing here!?” “I’m sorry for dragging you into this … but there’s no one else-” she tried to explain herself and it dawned on him, “ _You’re leaving!?_ ” “They’re watching my steed,” she pleaded, “I need him!”

For a moment, he just stared at her, his brows knit, but Arya knew his mind was racing. “Your father’s men?” he asked eventually. “No, stable boys. Three.” Yet, his expression hadn’t lightened until he suddenly blurted, “I’ve an idea!” he offered her a seat and a cup of wine, to ease her nerves. “I’ve to prepare a few things, I’m right back!” he said and was about to leave, but she grasped his arm, worried. “I’ll explain later!” he promised, squeezing her hand and left through the door she had entered.

He returned mere moments later, nonetheless Arya had gulped down the wine by then, and would have refilled her cup, if she hadn’t feared becoming tipsy. Ned sat down at his desk, grabbing parchment and quill and started writing. “What are you doing!?” Arya questioned disquietly. “Trust me!” he murmured absently. “I do, like no one else here.” she proclaimed and meant it. “We’ll get you out, before midnight. I promise!” he smiled at her and went back to his task. Drafting and sealing three messages, before he retreated to his chamber to get dressed, leaving Arya alone with her thoughts. And fears. _What if a maid was to check on her right now? What if Littlefinger’s or the queen’s spies had seen her climb the rope? What if Gendry returned by ship, thinking he could talk her round? They could run right into him. She had to leave. Now!_ Pacing up and down the room, she was close to panic again, when Ned finally returned to the solar – dressed in chainmail and a black cloak, armed with sword and dirk and his bow, “Let’s go!” he announced, grabbing the messages from his desk.

Their hoods pulled deep into their faces, they had hurried to the stables. Where two packed horses, Ned’s squire and three Dayne men had awaited them. Together they had overpowered the poor stable boys quickly, gagging and tying them up in her steed’s bay. And while the squire had stood watch at the stable door, Arya and Ned had readied her mount for the journey. But of course she couldn’t be lucky, just for once. They had barely begun strapping her supplies to the saddle, when the squire came running, saying a man would approach the stables. _Damn_.

Hoping, it were just some random manservant or knight, Arya, Ned and his squire hid in her stallion’s bay; their swords pointing at the stable boys’ throats. Whereas Ned’s men pretended to pack their horses. But of course, it wasn’t just some random man. It was Harwin, instantly realising something was amiss. Even before he saw Arya’s steed all saddled up. He stopped in his track, right out of reach for Ned to surprise him. And the three Dayne men blocking his way out, gave it away to Harwin for good. However, instead of raising alarm or fighting them, the Stark guard called, “Arya, it’s just me!” “I’m leaving, and you can’t stop me!” she hissed from her hideout in the bay. “I won’t stop you!” her father’s guard replied calmly, making Ned step out into the aisle and threaten, “That’s right, you’ll be tied up with the lads over here!” as his men closed in from behind. “There’s no need for that, my lord, I’m coming with you!” “And why’d you do that!?” Arya stepped next to Ned, studying Harwin warily. “As I see it, I’ve not much of choice here. Your father would have my head, if I let you leave alone!” causing Arya to narrow her eyes, “Is this a trick!? Are more guards coming?” “No, just me, to take over for the boys. So, no one will notice we’re gone, not before dawn!”

And just like that their plan had changed. Instead of two Dornish knights leaving alongside Ned’s squire, now two remained at the Red Keep. Ned had left two of his messages with them and handed the other to the third knight, while Harwin put on a Dayne cloak and mounted Arya’s steed; who undoubtedly was glad to not have a stranger ride him. Even though it was only for the short distance to Hot Pie’s and Lommy’s tavern, where Arya and the squire were meant to switch places. “Take your time! We need at least half an hour to get there, if not more!” Ned instructed the riders, “And remember, no hoods up until you’re past the gates, you’ve nothing to hide and we don’t wanna raise anyone’s suspicion!” And so three Dayne riders headed for the gates, in no hurry at all, while two hooded figures hurried to the kitchen yard as fast as they could, and disappeared through the door leading to the vaults.

“I’ve to admit, I haven’t used the tunnels for quite some time.” Ned whispered, as they rushed through the vaults, “But we’ll get you out, one way or another!” “I know the way!” Arya admitted sheepishly. Though, she wasn’t sure he had heard her, so she grabbed his arm to halt him, “Ned?” Yet, the hurt look on his face made her let go instantly. “I’m sorry-” she tried to apologise, but he interrupted her. “I know you are!” he snapped, “I read your message … no need to tell me again how you kissed him!” causing her jaw to drop. _He had never spoken to her like that before. Or anyone else in her presence._

“I’m sorry,” he stammered abashed, “I shouldn’t have said that … I don’t know what came over me … no, that’s not true. I know … Arya, I’m so sorry!” “It’s alright, I’m the one who needs to be sorry … I never meant to hurt you!” she appeased. “I know.” he sighed, “But I’m just a friend and he’s … _more_. And you can’t help me dealing with that, just like I can’t help you dealing with leaving him. But I’m glad you sent me that note, and that the truth isn’t… well, as bad as my imagination. Or those nasty rumours. So, let’s just put an end to all that … and just try being friends again, okay?” “Yes, gladly, thank you!” she agreed, slowly feeling as if a weight were lifted from her mind. “Alright, we better get going!” Ned stated and they hurried to the vault with the dragon skulls and the door leading down to the tunnels.

They had run wherever they could dare in the vaults and tunnels, and together they had navigated their way easily to the cave in Flea Bottom. There, Arya had placed her hand on her sword’s hilt. Just like Ned, who had unwittingly mirrored Gendry’s action from _that night, that now felt ages ago_. He had taken her hand, telling her as well, it were safer this way, and they had hurried through Flea Bottom. He leading the way, or more like carving their way through the crowds outside the brothels and winesinks. However, they hadn’t dared to run in the less crowded alleys, they had been too afraid it might draw attention to them. Still, they had made it in good time to the tavern; in less than an hour.

Entering the taproom with their hoods up, Ned led her straight to the counter, where Lommy and Hot Pie already awaited them. Though, unlike last time, the innkeeps approached them quietly, leading them up the stairs all serious, and into the room where the three riders already waited. Only there inside, Lommy pulled Ned into a hug, removing his hood and ruffling his hair amused, “There’s my pretty one!” and teased, “So, we’re in the shady business now, huh!?” “Just this once!” Ned retorted abashed, before Hot Pie hugged him as well, asking, “What’s all the secrecy about?” “We’ve to get _her_ out of the city, quick and quiet!” Ned said, nodding towards Arya, who removed her hood now, too. “Ah, the even prettier one!” Lommy turned to her, teasing, “So, you chose the Dornishman, after all?” “No,” she blurted defensively, “I’m going home!” “Ah, don’t worry, little lady! Our handsome Dornish bastard here will take you there. Safe and sound, in no time!” Hot Pie proclaimed. _Wait! Oh my gods…_ she stared at Ned wide-eyed, “You don’t mean … _No, Ned,_ you’re not coming!”

“I’m not letting you travel the Kingsroad all alone!” Ned insisted determined, but Arya objected, “No, they already compared you to Rhaegar, you can’t come!” “I don’t care!” Ned retorted furiously, “I’m not here to just wave you goodbye and let you travel half the Seven Kingdoms on your own!” “I’m not alone, Harwin’s with me!” Arya countered and the Stark man stepped forth, “My lord, I know the Kingsroad better than anyone in this room, and I’ve protected Arya all her life! I’ll take her home safely. _I swear, my lord!_ ” “Oh, well, then she’s not alone!” Hot Pie tried to appease the heated situation, but Ned objected, “One man can’t keep her safe against a bunch of bandits! I’m coming, too.”

“You’re just one more man?!” Arya rolled her eyes, “And I’m not allowing you to ruin yourself for me!” And Harwin agreed with her, “My lord, right now you only helped an unwilling bride to escape, that’s what honour commands of you as a knight. But if you come with us, you _stole_ her! And the last time a highborn stole another one’s bride-” “Gendry’s won’t start a war because of that, he’s no damn fool!” Ned scoffed. “It doesn’t matter!” Arya countered angrily, “If you come, your reputation’s ruined! People will call you Rhaegar for the rest of your life. And I won’t have that! So, you’re not coming, end of story.” “My lord, I’ll go in your stead!” the Dornish knight offered, before Ned could object again, and Arya agreed quickly, “Settled. Three swords against the bandits. And three Dayne riders leave the city, as many as left the keep! So, only the stable boys can tell you were involved!” Finally, Ned drooped his shoulders in defeat and sighed, “Alright, Vorian, you’ll go with them!”

Hot Pie and Lommy had left the room after that, promising Arya to quickly pack her some pies and bread as extra supplies, while Ned had made both Harwin and Ser Vorian vow to protect her under all circumstances. _It was ridiculous_. Harwin had sworn just that, when he became a Stark guard, and Vorian was a knight, honour commanded him to protect a woman from brigands and murderers. _But it was nice_ to see how deeply Ned cared about her. Then, his squire had handed him his cloak and she had barely removed her own, when Ned had placed it around her shoulders. Making her realise, she was running from Gendry cloaking her in Baratheon colours, being cloaked in Dayne colours. _The gods truly had an odd sense of humour._

And eventually, everyone but the squire had gone to the stables, were Hot Pie and Lommy had already waited with their extra supplies. Harwin had taken them and strapped them to Arya’s saddle. While she had hugged Lommy, thanking him for his help and telling him, she would miss his jokes in the North, before she had hugged Hot Pie, thanking him as well, and mostly for his delicious pies, stating his talent in the kitchen would have no equal, neither here in the south nor in the North.

And last she flung her arms around Ned, hugging him fiercely, “Thank you! For being my friend, even now, when you hate me!” He pulled her into a tight embrace, lifting her feet off the ground, “I could never hate you, and you know that!” he whispered, “I just hope I won’t miss you for the rest of my life, that’s all!” “I hope so, too.” she whispered, her voice breaking, “Since I know I will … until my last breath!” “Gods… Arya, I love you!” he breathed into her ear, petrifying her for a moment, before she attempted to apologise, “I’m sor-” But he stopped her, “Don’t! I just wanted to say it out loud, just once. Just once saying it to you … to get it off my chest, if that makes any sense to you!?” “It does, it think! And I want you to know, as a friend, my best friend, I love you, too. And I always will!” she assured, pulling slightly away to face him, and for a moment she just studied him; confusing him, going by the deepening frown on face.

So, she swiftly bent forward and placed a quick kiss on his lips, stunning him, “What was that for!?” and making him blush. “For being a true friend, of course! And my hero, since tonight!” she proclaimed, making him chuckle, “Damn, you’re right! I am …” he teased, “saving a maiden from the most gruesome monsters! Well, I’m not sure about that bull-headed stag, but I guess all those vicious lions, vipers and vultures count!” “They all count, the groping drunkard and the stupid bull, too!” she snorted and hugged him again.

When they finally let go of each other, Arya was about to mount her steed, but then turned around again, “Who’s Sansa’s secret suitor?” “I’m afraid, I’m sworn to secrecy!” he chuckled. “I won’t tell her! I just need to know it’s someone good and worthy. She’s already swooning over him…” Arya pleaded. “He’s a good man, brave and honourable, kind and smart. And his sense of humour isn’t too bad, either.” Ned assured, “Of course, compared to Gendry it’s a bit of a step down for Sansa, social-wise. But in my opinion, he’s a worthy suitor!” “But is he handsome!? Sansa always wanted someone handsome, I’m afraid if he isn’t-” Arya worried and Ned appeased once more, “I’d say he is! But, as a man I’m maybe not the best of judge … but I heard Myrcella call him handsome a while ago, I think one of her ladies is smitten with him.” “But why the secret courting?” Arya frowned. “Why not? It’s romantic, Sansa loves it!” Ned proclaimed, “You don’t have to worry about her, she’s smart. And I’ll keep an eye on her, I promise! And so will Gendry, Myrcella, Trystane and Renly … even Tommen!” “Thank you, Ned!” she hugged him once more, but briefer now.

“So, will this fair maiden allow a very heroic knight to help her onto her steed now?” Ned teased and she jested, “Only her favourite heroic knight, and just this once!” When he lifted her up onto her saddle, Ned went on, “You didn’t drop dead from it, wow!” and she rolled her eyes, “Shut up, stupid!” but let him lead her stallion out of the stable into the backyard, following Ser Vorian and Harwin on their steeds. Though, before he handed Arya her reins, Ned squeezed her hand once more, “Goodbye, Arya! Send me a raven to let me know you’re safe and sound!” he whispered, his voice throaty and hers wasn’t any better when she replied, “I will! Promised. Goodbye, Ned!” “Now, off you go! Before I change my mind and keep you here.” Ned teased and smacked her stallion lightly behind the saddle, to make him trot off the yard, following Harwin and Vorian.

Then, Arya could no longer hold back her tears. And Harwin noticed her snivelling, as soon as her steed closed up to his and Vorian’s. “We’ll be home in no time.” the Stark guard tried to comfort. “I know that!” she almost snapped, “I just wish I could’ve said goodbye someone else but only Ned and those innkeeps!” Wiping her tears off her face, she stated, “The moon shines bright enough tonight! We can get quite some distance between us and this shithole here, don’t you think?” “Depends on our new friend’s riding skills!” Harwin retorted, studying the Dayne man. “I may be twice your age, my lady, but I’m Dornish. That means, I’m not too old for a hard ride, unless I’m dead!” Ser Vorian claimed, making Harwin tease, “We’ll see about that, when the little lady darts off with lightning speed, Ser!”

As they neared the Old Gate, Ser Vorian told them to fall behind and let him do the talking at the gate. For a moment, Arya felt nauseous, fearing the City Watchmen would already await them, to snatch her off her steed and drag her back to the keep. But nothing happened. The Dornish knight just told the guards they were on a urgent mission for their lord – not even giving them the name Dayne – and they just nodded and opened the gate, letting them pass.

“That was easier than I thought!” Arya remarked, when she rode up to her elder companions again. “They’re there to keep the wrong folks out, my lady.” Ser Vorian explained, “So, unless they’ve a warrant for someone, they couldn’t care less who leaves the city! Especially this late. And apparently, tonight no one went missing.” _Just a runaway bride._ But thankfully her absence hadn’t been noticed, yet.

They headed northwest at a smart trot, until they were almost out of sight for the men on the city walls. Then Arya rode up a nearby hill and removed her hood, to take one last look at the capital. _It looked so beautiful and peaceful now,_ with all the warmly lit windows in stark contrast against the dark blueish landscape surrounding it. _Almost innocent._

She took a deep breath, and thought of those she left behind, some of them forever. _Father. Mother. Sansa. Ned. Gendry. Balerion. Myrcella. Tommen. Trystane. Renly. Loras. Edric. Brienne. Hot Pie. Lommy. Jeyne. Vayon. Jory. Alyn. Desmond. Fat Tom. Wyl. Heward. Cayn and all the others. Goodbye!_ And then she thought of those, who had forced her to flee in the dead of night. The ones she was glad to finally leave behind. _Good riddance and goodbye forever, my fucking king and queen! And Littlefinger. Joffrey. Margaery, and all the other vipers, vultures and gossipmongers!_

“Shall we?” Harwin asked next to her, when she finally turned her stallion to face north. But instead of answering, she pressed her heels into her mount’s sides, making him dart off and her two companions followed behind; both roaring with laughter. _A race_. Gendry’s voice whispered in her mind. _And the stakes couldn’t be any higher. Her life. Her freedom. And her heart._

After riding all night, only stopping twice to water their mounts, they had set up camp on a grassy clearing at dawn. At noon they had saddled up again and had travelled the rest of the day at a smart trot, before they had made camp at nightfall on some woodland edge with a nearby stream. However, the sky had been overcast then, so Arya had begrudgingly agreed to spend the whole night there. Before they had continued their journey at dawn, spending another day all on horseback, apart from occasional short pauses.

The following three days had been pretty much the same, only at the end of the fifth day they had reached the inn at the crossroads. And had decided to restock their dwindling supplies and stay the night. _And why not?_ Even a fool could guess she was heading north, and knew the fastest way to get there on horseback was the Kingsroad. _So, why prolong the journey by going off-road?_ she had argued with herself. But the main reason, Arya had agreed to stay at the inn, had been its bathhouse. She had longed for a hot bath. Of course, she had had opportunities to wash, they always had camped near streams, springs and wells; and unlike her, Ned’s men had actually thought of packing a piece of soap. But the streams’ beds hadn’t been deep enough or their currents not fast enough for her to properly wash her long hair in the cold water. So, that evening at the inn, she had actually enjoyed the hot tub; like never a bath before.

However, when she had left the bathhouse, she had found Ser Vorian instead of Harwin standing guard, and the knight’s face had immediately given away something had been amiss. “What is it!?” she had asked alarmed, yet he had only said, “You better see for yourself, my lady! In the taproom.” _No, that was impossible! He couldn’t catch up with her so quick, could he!?_ Clenching her fists, she had stormed around the corner and barged into the taproom, ready to knock him out.

Only to find Harwin amidst about twenty heavily armed men, who instantly had bowed when she and Ser Vorian had entered the taproom. _Huh!?_ She had stared perplexed at the scene, before her questioning eyes had turned to Harwin. “My lady, this’s Ser Raymun Darry.” he had introduced the man next to him, who had stepped forth, “Lady Arya, Lord Tully tasked us to escort you-” “ _I’m not going back there!_ ” she had snapped outraged, baffling the Ser and his men. But she had ignored them, snarling at Harwin, “You said you’d take me home!” “Arya, they’re here to escort you _north!_ ” her father’s man had appeased. _Huh?_ She had blinked confused. “It seems, your Lady Mother sent word to your uncle in Riverrun, to find us!” Harwin had explained further, but she had only narrowed her eyes. _Why'd her mother do that!? It made no sense. This had to be some trick._ “I don’t believe you!” Arya had growled warily.  

But Ser Raymun had vowed it were the truth, and had offered them to stay the night at Castle Darry, which were only an hour’s ride away. But Arya had refused, suspecting a trap. _Just another castle with a tower to lock her up, until whoever would come and drag her south again. No, the only castle gates she’d see closing behind her, were those of Winterfell or Castle Black!_ And though, Harwin had pleaded with her to accept the men’s help, she had insisted to sleep in the stables; with the horses saddled up. _Just in case_. Knowing, _she wouldn’t close an eye that night_. She had been too afraid, Ser Raymun and his men would grab her and take her south again.

Come dawn, Arya had gulped down half a jug of water, had grabbed the supplies, the innkeeper had prepared for them, and had mounted her steed wordlessly, darting off the yard. Harwin and Ser Vorian had rushed to follow her, but Ser Raymun and his men hadn’t been as quick. Only three of them had managed to halfway keep up with them. While the rest of their group hadn’t caught up until they had stopped to rest at noon. For a moment, Arya had thought to go off the road after all, to get rid of Ser Raymun and his men. And Harwin, too. _He was her father’s man, not hers_. Only to realise, _if House Darry was tasked to find her, other houses probably got ravens as well! Damn_.

So, Arya had spent another night ignoring her body’s exhaustion, causing both Harwin and Ser Vorian to shake their heads over her stubbornness. _She wouldn’t give anyone a chance to overwhelm her!_ But of course, two nights of sleep deprivation had taken its toll, and she had fallen asleep on horseback the next day. When Harwin had pulled her off the saddle, she had only briefly woken up; too tired to actually stop him. And had fallen back asleep, as soon as he had lain her down onto her furs, covering her with a woollen blanket.

The next time she had opened her eyes, the sun had been rising. _Seven hells!_ She had slept half a day and all the night. But even though she had wasted precious time, she had realised, _she was still in the Riverlands, heading north_. Of course, that hadn’t meant she trusted Ser Raymun, but at least she had accepted having him and his men around. And although she had tried to not sleep so deep anymore, _in case it all was just a trick_ , to lull her into a false sense of security, she couldn’t deny, she and her original companions had benefited from getting more sleep at night.

Five days later, they were meant to reach the Twins, from where a Frey party were supposed to take over for the Darry men; to escort Arya to the Neck. But _someone_ had other plans. The twin castles had barely come into their view, when a grey figure racing over the hills with lightning speed had scared the Darry men nigh to death. But not Arya and her steed, they had darted off. _To meet her halfway._ Flinging her arms around the thick grey neck of her giant wolf only instants later, Arya sobbed and laughed all at once. But Nymeria was no better, one moment whimpering like a pup, licking Arya’s face overjoyed, only to snarl and challenge her playfully a flash later.

And there on the grassy hills along the Green Fork’s shores, they fooled around as if they both were little again. Undoubtedly baffling the men of her escort once more. _But she couldn’t care less._ Though, when Nymeria had pinned her down, almost burying her completely with her massive stature, of a sudden another wolf – bigger and darker in appearance – jumped at Nymeria from the side, rolling her off of her, to play-wrestle with him instead. Only then, Arya noticed the approaching riding party. _Stark guards_. About thirty men. Led by _Robb!_ Arya was lifted up in her brother’s arms as soon as she had gotten up onto her feet. “There you are!” he laughed, “You had us all worried sick, you little monster!”

Finally reunited with him, after almost losing hope to ever see him again, tears welled up inevitably; and Arya clung to her big brother like a drowning man would to a lifeline. But it was tears of utter relief and joy. Still, Robb teased, “ _Whoa?!_ Since when are you such a cry baby?” causing her to growl, “Shut up!” and punch his shoulder, instantly wiping at her cheeks. “There, that’s my baby sister!” he pulled away somewhat to face her, “Damn, girl, you’re insane, you know that!?” “I’m not the crazy one … it’s all them southerners gone mad!” she snapped angrily. “Unmistakably! _You_ a queen!? Your wolf were better at that job!” Robb snorted laughing, “What was that guy thinking!?” “Not much, obviously!” Arya growled, nestling against her brother’s neck once more. _She didn’t want to think about Gendry now. Or ever again. Just forget him!_ that was what she wanted.

“Robb, can I stay with you at Winterfell?” she whispered. “Course!” he chuckled. “No, I mean, _forever?_ ” she stated dead serious, “I don’t want to leave again. You know, to marry someone … I’d rather live alone beyond the Wall!” “There’s no need for that! I’m gonna keep my wildling sister now.” Robb reassured, tightening his embrace, “Remember, I called their plan nuts in the first place! Could’ve told them this’d happen. Well, not the part with that princeling mistaking you for Sansa … but _this here_ , Father and Mother had it coming!” Setting her feet back onto the ground, so Grey Wind could finally greet her as well, he told her, “You and I, we’re going home now, where we belong!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARYA
> 
> So, this is the last chapter with Arya suffering. That night, fleeing from the Red Keep, was the lowest point of her downward spiral. But she had to get to that point, so she could finally break free from the cage her parents and society put her in (without feeling guilty for choosing herself over them). Cersei decided to trap her, to chain her (in the betrothal and marriage) to protect Gendry’s reputation and to keep Margaery from becoming queen and probably to punish Gendry for not doing as she wants. But Cersei didn’t know how much of a wolf Arya really is. She trapped her and Arya did what a wolf in a trap often does, she chewed her own limb (her parents, Sansa, Gendry and her friends in King’s Landing) off and ran for her life.
> 
> And that was about time! Arya really tried doing it her mother’s way. For about six months. And that’s longer than she herself expected she could play along. But for anyone who isn’t blind it should have been obvious from the start, Sansa’s shoes don’t fit her baby sister. Arya isn’t made for such a traditional life. And the only reason she hasn’t broken out of that mould her mother and partly even her father, but mostly the society in Westeros had tried to force her into, is her love for her family. 
> 
> She never wanted to disappoint her mother and least of all her father. But their unwillingness to accept she can’t fit the profile of a traditional Westerosi lady, now ultimately led to them disappointing her in return. But that was necessary, since now she could break free from her parents expectations and won’t feel guilty about that for much longer. 
> 
> For now, she’ll return with Robb to Winterfell, to lick her (emotional) wounds for a bit. I hope I managed to transport it in this chapter, that Arya really was heartbroken over leaving this way and not getting to say goodbye to most of her beloved ones and not knowing if her parents and sister can forgive her that.
> 
> But when she’s recovered from that, she’ll need to get used to being free. Free to actually decide what to do with her life. And her family now has to choose to either accept that – including the occasional trouble and social embarrassment that Arya might still cause – or they’ll lose their daughter/sister for good. Of course, her brothers are more open to accept that. And for Catelyn that’ll be the hardest. But even she should have seen how unhappy Arya was with the life she wanted for her, and how forcing Arya into such a life had caused way more trouble and embarrassment than leaving Arya in North could have.
> 
> GENDRY
> 
> We’re not done with him, yet. Don’t worry. I am thinking of writing the next chapter from his perspective. Though, I’m not sure if it will work. That’s also why it will at least take me another 2 weeks to update, if not more. 
> 
> But what I can tell you already is, he’s as happy about the betrothal and wedding as Arya. He’s fuming. And not only because he knows that pushed Arya further away from him than she has ever been. Gendry himself has no interest in getting married so soon. Until Arya stumbled into his life, he didn’t want to get married at all …. unsurprisingly, considering his options from before Arya’s arrival. And even with Arya, he didn’t expect to get married within the next 2-3 years. So, he’s now extremely pissed at his parents, for both their sakes.
> 
> And he’s on his way back to the capital. Arya was right about that. When he heard of the nasty rumours (due to Myrcella’s and Tommen’s raven), he probably already thought of getting returning home to fix the mess. But hearing of the betrothal for sure made him get aboard the next ship instantly. 
> 
> The question is what will he do after his return to the Red Keep … I guess you all know the Baratheon words! And it won’t be Ned Dayne’s head he’d want to rip off!
> 
> NED 
> 
> Of course, I couldn’t let Arya leave without fixing things with at least one of her favourite southern guys. I wanted Ned to play a big role in the escape, because I’m not sure we’ll see Ned again in this story. The chances for that actually are close to zero. But that doesn’t mean Ned and Arya won’t met again (you know, beyond this story), since they’re now friends again. Real friends this time, now that all the secret feelings no longer stand between them.


	18. The Oak Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry flees to Storm's End to clear his head after those crazy weeks since the tourney. Only he doesn't really find peace there, since first he hears that Arya and him had been seen in the city together and about the rumours going around at court and then he even has to hear of his own betrothal via formal raven (not even addressed to him!) and he goes full Baratheon-Ours-Is-The-Fury-mode. He returns home to the Red Keep, to see his worst fear confirmed: Arya is gone. But thank the gods he's stubborn!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter now is Gendry's POV. And it was quite tough to write, not just because of the changed POV, but also because a lot of new characters showed up. I still hope you like it.

He had arrived at Storm’s End four days after his hasty departure from the capital. Of course, he had felt sorry for his two squires, his only companions on the trip; they really hadn’t deserved the hard ride through the Stormlands. But he hadn’t been able to slow down. _He needed to get away from her. To get her out of his head. Just for a while_. He had known, he had made a fool of himself because of her. _Still did_. That last tourney day and the whole fortnight afterwards, he had never felt that stupid and exposed in his whole life. _Which was saying something_ , considering how and where he had grown up. _It was absolutely embarrassing. But what choice did he have?_ He would’ve lost her good, if he hadn’t done it. _And he’d do it again_ , even though she hated him for it _. Because it was worth it. Well, some of it_.

He had thought, she would never forgive him. But then out of the blue, she had stood in the shop and mere hours later they had even kissed. Causing him to doubt his own sanity, for a moment he had been absolutely sure, it must have been a dream. But then her knee had proven, it was not. _How could the least ladylike woman at court also be the most complicated one!? One moment she hated him and wanted to kill him, and the next she kissed him, only to slam her knee into his crotch an instant later. It made no sense._ Not to him _. She made no sense to him._ No wonder everyone at court thought he was going nuts. _It was true. She was driving him crazy._ And he couldn’t go on like that, he had needed a break. Especially, since the one person, whose friendship and advice he would have truly needed on this, barely spoke a word with him now. _Also because of her!_

So, he had hoped at Storm’s End – away from the schemers, scandalmongers and lickspittles – he would find the peace to clear his mind. But of course, that hope had been in vain. He had barely greeted his younger brother, when Edric had told him, two ravens from Myrcella and Tommen had arrived. The first one telling him, Arya and he had been seen in the city. _Fuck!_ And the second one had told him about the rumours that were going around at court since. _Damnit. He shouldn’t have left her there!_

His instinct had told him to return to King’s Landing at once, but his siblings had assured, they and Arya would manage until after Edric’s nameday. And he had neglected their base-born brother for far too long. _Also because of her_. He had been too afraid, Ned or whoever else could seize the chance and ask for her hand in his absence. So, now he had stayed in the Stormlands and had just sent a raven back. To his mother, though. To warn her to not even think of getting rid of Arya – unless she would want him staying in Storm’s End indefinitely … or marrying Margaery, just out of spite towards her. _He should’ve listened to his instinct!_ And should’ve known, Cersei Lannister would find a way to get back at him for this threat.

Just two days later two more ravens had come. One message formally addressed to the Lord of Storm’s End, saying, “I, Robert I. Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, hereby announce the betrothal of my firstborn son and heir, Gendry Baratheon, to Lady Arya of House Stark. Their wedding will take place at full moon after next. RB” _Seven hells!_ He had been so perplexed, he had slumped down onto a chair, all colour draining from his face. _They’ve got to be jesting … what madness made them think he’d do that!? And what the hells made Ned Stark agree to that?!_ He hadn’t touched Arya … _not in a way that’d justify this!_ And only then he had realised, _he did this! With his raven to his mother._ In his fury, he had smashed the very same chair he had slumped down onto, “THAT FUCKING BITCH!” _Arya would never talk to him again! Ever. For this, she might actually kill him …_

Undoubtedly, he would have destroyed more furniture, if Renly and Edric hadn’t stopped him; reading the second raven scroll to him, which had revealed, the Starks were as happy about the arrangement as he was. And Ned Stark had literally begged him to return to King’s Landing as soon as possible – to reason with his parents, _for Arya’s sake._ Hearing that, had made him pause for a moment. _How would he ever get her to accept him after this!?_ But then it had struck him, _She wouldn’t just sit back and wait for him save her?! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck_ …

He had stormed from the room, ordering Penrose, to ready their fastest vessel; to take him back to King’s Landing … or to White Harbour, if necessary. Fuming, and not knowing how else to vent his anger, Gendry had barged into the Round Hall and had ripped his father’s armour and warhammer from the wall. _That fucking idiot arsehole … he should cave his head in with his own hammer!_ And he certainly would’ve smashed the armour and melted it down alongside _that goddamn hammer_ , if his brother and uncle hadn’t stopped him again; Edric offering to spar with him, to blow off some steam. Yet, his brother had come to regret that idea quickly. Gendry couldn’t recall having ever been that furious before in his life, and had tired Edric quicker than they both had expected. Thus, Brienne and Loras had stepped in and had fought him together. _It helped … somewhat_.

But after seeing him like that, Edric and Renly hadn’t thought it wise to let him embark the ship alone, and so both of them, and also Loras and Brienne had accompanied him. And he had been grateful for that. Even though, he couldn’t really show them .. the three days at sea had turned him into a raging mess. _He probably would have torn the whole vessel apart_ , if they hadn’t been there.

Upon their arrival at the harbour in King’s Landing, he had come off the ship and had been on his way back to the keep through the tunnels; before his companions had even disembarked. Less than half an hour later, he barged fumingly into the royal quarters, where his family had assembled to break their fast. “YOU FUCKING ARSEHOLES! DID YOU REALLY THINK I’D PLAY ALONG WITH THIS!? DRAG HER TO THE GREAT SEPT AND FORCE MYSELF ON HER!? I’D RATHER STRANGLE YOU BOTH-” Gendry shouted at his parents. And Joffrey snorted sardonically, “You idiot couldn’t even force yourself on her, if you wanted to!” confirming his worst fears, “Your little bride’s _gone!_ Your Dornish pet stole-” but was drowned out. “HOW DARE YOU THREATENING ME, _BOY!?_ ” his father roared, pushing his chair forcefully back from the table and getting up to stare him down, “I’M YOUR KING!” “UNTIL YOU’RE NOT ANYMORE!” Gendry roared back, and his father stepped closer, “YOU UNGRATEFUL FUCKER! I’LL EXCLUDE YOU FROM SUCCESSION!” the king bellowed; smelling of wine as usual. “GO ON, DO ME THE FAVOUR!” Gendry challenged, stepping closer himself. And his father shot back, “YOU THINK I WOULDN’T DO IT!?” “And let the little shit have the throne!?” Gendry snorted unimpressed, without averting his glare from his father, “ _No!?_ Well, then I suggest you do as I say, _father!_ ” he spat, getting louder again, “CANCEL THE DAMN WEDDING AND BREAK THE BETROTHAL!”

“And _what exactly_ would be the point in that!?” his mother scoffed, interrupting them, “We all know, you’ll run right after her! As soon as you’re done here … with this _ridiculous_ rant of yours. _We did you a favour!_ She was leaving anyway, told me herself!” _What!?_ His mother didn’t even wait for him to respond, “Her father booked her a passage.” she told him, “Her vessel would have left this very morning. _Didn’t she tell you!?_ ” And Joffrey fully enjoyed the shock on his face, as his questioning eyes met Myrcella’s. “ _I’m sorry!_ ” his sister exclaimed and stammered abashed, “We wanted to tell you … _would’ve_ … _after_ Edric’s nameday … you couldn’t have stopped her …” leaving him speechless. “ _See_ , we did you a favour!” their mother went on, “They won’t dare to marry her off to some northern halfwit now. _She’s yours_ , as you wanted. All you have to do is get her back here … and I’m sure you’ll come up with something!” No longer willing to listen to his mother’s twisted logic, Gendry stormed from the room, hearing Joffrey’s smug call, “Good luck, _Brother!_ Save travels-” and his father roaring, “Shut your damn mouth! I’d sooner ex-”

After that, Gendry had gone straight to find Ned. _That damn shit’s remark had to mean something_. And indeed his friend admitted his involvement in Arya’s escape right away. Telling him what had happened in his absence and how they had pulled it off. It actually made him chuckle, _that girl was unbelievable!_ And it made him realise, _if she had stayed, she would have hated him beyond repair by now._ Yet, Ned dampened his hope, “Listen, I know you love her! And as much as I hate it, I think, she loves you, too. So, at the risk of sounding just jealous now … I think, it’s time for you to let her go!” But he couldn’t. _She loved him!_ So, how could he even consider letting her go? Letting her walk away _… into whoever idiot’s arms? No, he couldn’t give her up!_

So, he went to the Tower of the Hand afterwards. To face Eddard Stark. Hoping, he could appease her father by assuring, he considered the wedding cancelled and the betrothal broken; until Arya would say otherwise. And of course, he apologised for seeing her unchaperoned – wondering, what she had told her father. _Everything? Just about the last day? The kiss? Oh, gods, hopefully not?!_ So, Gendry phrased his apology as vaguely as possible and just assured, he hadn’t dishonoured her; instead of claiming he wouldn’t have touched her. _Basically, it was just holding hands and one stolen kiss … brief and innocent._ But his instincts told him, honourable Ned Stark wouldn’t agree with him on that; _not when it came to his daughter_.

And he was right. Eddard Stark’s face was sterner than Gendry had ever seen it before; his eyes barely hiding the anger. But thankfully, Catelyn Tully was there, too. And her he could appease at least somewhat, with his apology and his request to continue his courtship – within the appropriate bounds, though. But Lord Stark wasn’t as indulgent as his wife. He thanked Gendry for cancelling the wedding and breaking the betrothal, but made clear, after all that happened, he would need time to consider his courtship and told him, he would let him know when he would have come to a decision. _Fuck. So much for setting sails before nightfall?!_ Knowing, he couldn’t venture north on his own without risking to turn Ned Stark against him for good, Gendry saw himself forced to remain in King’s Landing. _Stuck … for who knows how long!?_

But not in the Red Keep. With his parents fucking his life up once again and not knowing where Arya was and if she was alright, Gendry decided, _He wouldn’t stay any moment longer there!_ and took up quarters with Edric and Brienne in Hot Pie’s and Lommy’s tavern. He didn’t want to see any of the scheming fuckers and scandalmongers from court. Or else _he probably would have murdered some of them_ – going by the wild rage burning inside of him.

But even in the city and the tavern people gossiped and speculated about Arya’s disappearance. The Hand’s daughter eloped with her secret lover. No, she jumped from her window, too unhappy in the south. Nonsense, she was stolen, by pirates. Or the king himself. No, Rhaegar was still alive and abducted her. Yeah, he was seen in some winesink the day before. No, his son did it, young Lord Dayne looked like a Targaeryen for a reason. Bullshit, she was murdered by the Tyrells. No, by the queen. I heard she was with child, a bastard. Yeah, and the queen made her join the Silent Sisters. _It was ridiculous_. But most of all, it didn’t help Gendry to calm down and eventually he even avoided the tavern’s taproom.

As the days went by, Gendry’s mood worsened, he constantly felt ready to lash out; even at his friends. And the only way to prevent that, was burning off his energy – dawn to nightfall. Every day. He went riding, racing his stallion around in the woods and on the meadows outside King’s Landing, or sparred for hours with Edric and Brienne. But most of his time he spent at Mott’s shop, working furiously on Arya’s armour, melting its individual parts down over and over again. _He wanted it to be perfect._ And no matter his bad mood, Tobho Mott told him, “Keep it up, it’s gonna be your masterpiece!” _He was right!_ Gendry realised, stunned for a moment. _It would be his masterpiece. Had to be!_ So, he worked even harder on it.

Only Edric’s nameday had meant a short relief. Or so Gendry tried to tell himself. His base-born brother even jested, he would need to thank him. Since now, that they inevitably were stuck in King’s Landing, Myrcella and Tommen could attend his nameday feast for the very first time – together with Renly, Loras, Trystane, Ned and some other young knights they snuck out of the keep that night. And although, the feast in the tavern was a smaller affair than it would have been at Storm’s End – and sadly without Shireen – Edric seemed to enjoy it. And Gendry tried to do so as well. But all the ale and wine in the tavern couldn’t stop his mind from thinking of her. Which eventually led to him sitting alone in a dark booth in the corner, gulping down more ale and wine, until Ned slumped down across from him, his speech slurring, “You look like shit!” “Yeah, thanks! Exactly, how I feel … but who am I telling?!” Gendry growled, slurring no less. “Well, seeing you like this, kind of helps!” Ned claimed and Gendry snorted, “My pleasure, Dayne!” And they spent the rest of the night drinking together in silence, in the dark booth in the corner. _Because of her!_

A sennight after his return to the capital, Ned came to see him at the shop. To tell Gendry, he had had a raven from the Twins, from her – she was safe _. Thank the gods!_ With her wolf and her brother, heading home now. But of course, hearing that, made Gendry go straight to the Tower of the Hand and once more plead with her father, to let him visit her at Winterfell. But Lord Stark refused him again, telling him, he would not make a decision before Arya was safe at home; which would take at least another ten days, Ned Stark claimed. _Seven hells, he would be on his last legs by then!_

Nine days later, Vorian and Harwin returned from the Twins and Ned sent his vassal to see him at the tavern; to report of his travel with Arya. And like his master before, Vorian told Gendry as well, she wouldn’t want him to go after her. But he couldn’t just let her go like that. _He needed to see her! And if she wanted him to give up on her, she would need to tell him herself. To his face!_

Deciding, he had waited long enough, Gendry and his companions readied their vessel the next day. Before he went back to the keep through the tunnels, to inform his siblings about his departure and to ask Ned to join him. But his friend refused, “I can’t help you get her back, I’m sorry!” Although, Gendry had expected that, a part of him still had hoped his friend would venture north with him. Not just because he knew – unlike him – Ned could get her to talk, but also because of his friend’s calm and reasonable nature. _Ned would’ve kept him from doing something stupid_. So, he went to the Hand’s Tower alone, to deliver a message, telling Lord Stark, he would mean no disrespect, but it would be ten days since the raven had arrived from the Twins and he would head north now, to talk to Arya.

Afterwards, Gendry went straight to the vaults again, where Balerion waited on the jaw of his namesake; hissing at him, for having been neglected for so long. “Sorry, little dread, but I’ve to leave you again. To get her back … _if that’s even possible?!_ ” But then he got an idea, _she loved the feisty tom._ “How about you join me on this little adventure?” he suggested, petting Balerion’s head, “You certainly look like you could need a good old ship rat diet!” Thus, when he had finally managed to appease the angry tom, Gendry continued his way through the tunnels to the harbour; with Balerion in his arm.

But of course, his mother had heard of his departure by then. Seeing Jaime, Barristan and ten Lannister guards aboard his vessel, Gendry snorted angrily. _He was a grown man, when would she ever accept that!?_ “Sorry, lad! You know how she is …either we’re coming or you’re not leaving!” his uncle told him, nodding at the two war galleys guarding the harbour. _He had Edric, Brienne and twenty Baratheon men. The northerners weren’t stupid! They wouldn’t harm him for courting Arya._ But most of all, he had no time to fight now with his mother, _he had to leave!_ And she knew that. _That’s why she sent Barristan and Jaime!_ Knowing, he wouldn’t really mind to have his uncle and old teacher accompanying him. _Damn scheming bitch of a mother._ he huffed and vowed to himself, _this was the last time she manipulated him!_

So, he had given in and his vessel had finally left King’s Landing, heading north to White Harbour. But the three sennights aboard had taken its toll on him again. He had felt restless and had been constantly on edge, even though he had sparred with his companions several hours a day and had helped the sailors with their daily tasks. He hadn’t even minded scrubbing deck, and had spent hours up in the crow’s nest, staring at the sea and wondering, _how in the gods name he could convince Arya to accept him and to eventually return to King’s Landing with him_. But the nights had been the worst, he had felt exhausted, yet had spent hours tossing and turning or staring at the ceiling; his mind revolving around her. Eventually, he had even hoped they would encounter some pirates _… at least then he could hit someone for real._ But no. On the contrary, it had seemed the gods wanted to test his patience. For their whole trip, the wind had been a gentle breeze and twice they had been stuck in a calm, the first time for four days, and the second time for two days. _Seven bloody hells!_

And it hadn’t gotten any better. When they finally passed the Three Sisters, entering the mouth of the White Knife, he got his hopes up again. But of course, he found them dampened soon after. Lord Wyman Manderly awaited him at White Harbour, babbling how overjoyed he were to welcome the future king and told him, he had a feast prepared in his honour. _Seven hells!_ Internally fuming, Gendry put on a straight face and accepted Manderly’s invitation smilingly. _And what a feast he hosted!_ The tables were excessively filled with all kind of foods and beverage – both from Westeros and Essos – Lord Manderly apparently planned to fatten Gendry just as much as himself. And made him taste each and every one of them, while his granddaughters besieged him and Edric all night _Worse than Margaery!_

The next day he didn’t wake until late in the afternoon, feeling sick and about to throw up any moment, while his head throbbed with pain – so bad he suspected, the two northern ladies or Manderly himself would have put some potion into his goblet. So, suddenly he was more than grateful, his mother had insisted on taking two Kingsguard knights with him. _Who knows what he would’ve found in his bed_ , if Jaime and Barristan hadn’t been there. _Not that he would’ve done anything, he would never do that to Arya …_ But after what his parents had done, he wouldn’t have been surprised, if Ned Stark, or rather Catelyn Tully would have decided to play dirty, too. _And Wyman Manderly certainly was the right man for such a scheme_.

So, he stumbled from his chamber, ignoring his uncle’s tease, “Good morning, sunshine! Didn’t think I’d get to see you today …” and asked him to get someone to prepare him a bath. But it didn’t really help, and so he came to realise, he wouldn’t be leaving White Harbour before the morrow. _Seven hells._ But at least he was smart enough to excuse himself from joining Lord Manderly and his cunning granddaughters for supper and didn’t touch any food or beverage that was brought to his chamber, except water. _They wouldn’t get to delay him another day!_

Come dawn he woke to his stomach growling and got up to find the kitchen, to get some food there, _before they could meddle with it_. Afterwards he woke his companions, telling them to ready themselves and the horses Lord Manderly had promised them. _Hopefully they weren’t all lame and old_. But no, the steeds weren’t the problem. All of them were fine and fit young mounts, perfect for a hard ride to Winterfell. But unfortunately, Lord Manderly decided in the very last moment he and his granddaughters would escort him there himself. _In a fucking wheelhouse_ , almost as big as his mother’s. _They got to be jesting!_ Now, Gendry was sure, _he wasn’t paranoid! Those bloody northerners actually were fucking with him …_

Instead of a sennight, it took them over a fortnight to get to Winterfell. And Gendry wouldn’t have been surprised, to one day see the Wall appear behind the next mountain ridge instead of Winterfell. Lord Manderly literally tried everything to delay their journey. His damn wheelhouse lost its wheels so regularly, Gendry suspected the fat lord to loosen them himself every night. And if the damn thing for once didn’t lose its wheels, its spokes broke or even the axes, or it got stuck on the muddy road. Gendry was so on edge before the end of the first sennight, he would have set the whole thing afire at night; if the Manderlys hadn’t slept inside. And if he wasn’t so in intent, to not let the northerners know, _their stupid little tricks actually worked._

If it weren’t for Arya, he would have turned tail on the fifth day. That much he knew. Especially since he couldn’t really spar with his companions anymore, without giving away to Lord Manderly how on edge he actually was by then. And even if he wanted to blow off some steam, Wynafryd and Wylla kept besieging him whenever they got hold of him. _He could’ve just as well brought Margaery and all her numb nuts north!_

But someone else was even unhappier about the whole trip. Aboard ship, Balerion had actually enjoyed their adventure and had proudly presented him every rat he had caught; nestling contently into Gendry’s cot after his meals. But at White Harbour he had to put the feisty tom into a wooden cage for the rest of the journey; and the old tom hated him for it. Gendry had made him a leash – which he hated almost as much as the cage – but after three days and nights locked up in the wooden box, Balerion begrudgingly accepted wearing the leash; realising, that was the only way for him to get out of the damn thing.

Though, of course, putting a leash on an cat proved to the northerners for good, him and everyone else in the south were insane pompous pricks. And he could only agree. _What did he think he was doing!?_ Taking a tomcat all the way from King’s Landing to Winterfell? _A cat was no dog! Of course it made him look like a fool …_ undoubtedly even for his companions. But thankfully, none of them said anything. Still, _his mother was right_ , he was losing the people’s respect because of Arya. And how could he hold it against them!? _He was pretty much walking a fucking cat because of her!_

Yet, on the eleventh night, he realised, bringing Balerion along was the best idea he had. All of a sudden the tomcat started growling in his cage, waking both Gendry and Edric. _Something was wrong!_ They grabbed their sword belts and exited the tent at once, asking Barristan if he had heard or seen anything. Even though, the old knight negated, Gendry’s instinct told him to trust Balerion – _he wouldn’t raise alarm over a weasel or a fo_ x. So, he ordered Edric to wake ten of their men and they checked the woods to their west, the direction Balerion had growled at. But they found nothing.

Only the morning after, when he went to take a piss and decided to go there again, he found proof neither him nor Balerion were paranoid. Paw prints. Of a wolf. _A single wolf._ He was a good enough hunter to know that. _A direwolf_ , going by the size. And waking to Balerion growling happened on all nights afterwards. So, even though, he stopped dragging his men from their tents after the second occurrence, he always went to check in the mornings. And each time he found one single pair of prints, stalking the woods near his tent. _Nymeria._ He was sure of it, even before he found her prints again on the third morning. And where Nymeria was, _Arya couldn’t be far!_ He was even more certain of that.

Although, he never found a single foot print small enough to be hers, he knew, _she was there!_ And that somehow calmed him down. More than anything he had tried since he had left Storm’s End. Thus, no matter what nonsense Lord Wyman threw at him to delay their travel from then on – be it too thick fog or the fat lord coming down with a fever for a day – he no longer cared. _She was out there! Watching him_. And it fuelled his hope. _She wouldn’t do that, if she no longer cared! Maybe she didn’t want to face him, yet, but she still loved him_. And that was all that mattered.

By the time they finally arrived at Winterfell, Gendry felt tense, but was no longer about to go off like a jar of old wildfire – and was prepared for a not so welcome welcome in the ancestral castle of House Stark. And indeed, Robb Stark seemed intent to make this as hard for him as possible. Even though, he received them in the courtyard at the South Gate, as his and the Manderlys’ status demanded, the acting Lord Stark made no efforts to conceal which one of them were more welcome. Little more than a year older and almost as tall and broad as Gendry, Robb Stark had clearly settled into his role of acting Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.

He stood tall and proud and greeted poised, “It’s been a long time since kings and princes visited the North. You honour us by going to the extraordinary lengths to travel all the way up here, Prince Gendry. Winterfell is yours, your grace!” he said, yet, Gendry didn’t miss the cold undertone; or how Robb Stark’s smile never even got near his eyes, when he addressed him. And the young lord went quickly on to introduce his younger brothers. Brandon – _Bran_ – just as tall as him and mirroring his demeanour; but the younger man still lacked his older brother’s confidence. And Rickon, the youngest Stark, glaring at him with such defiance, Gendry couldn’t help but chuckle. _Unmistakably her relative._ Even though, unlike Arya, the three brothers took after their mother, there was no doubt, _that glare was all Arya_. Though, of course, Rickon got his reaction all wrong, “Are you laughing at me!?” the boy snapped, reminding Gendry even more of her, “I’d never dare that, my lord! You just remind me of your sister, is all.” confusing the lad for good; he apparently didn’t understand it was a compliment.

But Robb Stark left Gendry no chance to explain himself and swiftly introduced him to Theon Greyjoy and Cley Cerwyn, Benfred and Eddara Tallhart and their cousins Brandon and Beren, Gawen Glover, Alys Karstark, Meera and Jojen Reed and the three Mormont sisters, Lyra, Jorelle and Lyanna, who all claimed to have come to pay their respect in their families’ names. _Yeah, sure!_ Gendry wanted to snort, but pulled himself together. He knew damn well, Robb Stark hadn’t invited these young nobles – all of similar age – for no reason. And maybe the men actually were suitors for Arya, but Gendry wasn’t impressed. _She wouldn’t marry one of them, she loved him! Even though, she wouldn’t make it easy for him_ , since she clearly had no intentions to greet him herself.

After Gendry had introduced his companions, Robb Stark announced, he had quarters in the Guest House readied for them and would assume after their unexpected troubles on the road, they all would need hot baths and some rest, before the feast in the evening. _Of course, another one!_

Somehow Gendry was actually relieved to get some rest for a couple of hours _… from those damn northern pricks!_ But for Balerion he obviously was the idiot prick. The tomcat was far from grateful, when Gendry allowed him to leave his cage without the leash. And although Gendry rooms were the biggest and no doubt the most extravagant in the Guest House, the feisty cat kept hissing at him as soon as he only looked into his direction; and despite gobbling half his chicken. “It’s not my fault, it took us so long to get here … or that she refuses to even see you!” Gendry growled, staring at the canopy of his bed.

Playing along with the northerners’ stupid distraction game, Gendry went to the feast at the Great Hall in the evening. To prove, _he was far from giving up_. And somehow he hoped, _maybe she’d show up … just out of spite … to tease him._ But of course, she didn’t. Not before, during or after the feast. _Her hall full of suitors, yet, neither hide nor hair of her … what a surprise?!_ Instead, Gendry found himself in the very same place as at home at court. _Dancing with every fucking lady in the castle, except the one he actually wanted._ And the Mormont and Manderly sisters took fully advantage of the situation, knowing, he wouldn’t dare to refuse a dance on his very first night in Winterfell. _Who’d thought having Margaery and her cousins at court was actually a good thing!? It clearly was the perfect training for this!_ Since no matter how hard the northern ladies tried, he kept a straight face and didn’t let his guard down, tiring them before they could tire him.

Thus, eventually he was able to sit down at the high table next to his host, “Lord Stark, may I ask where your sister is tonight?” “Not here, obviously. But I suggest, we discuss the matter in the morrow, your grace.” Robb Stark retorted somewhat frigidly, before he turned to look at him and challenged, “Unless of course, you’d want to discuss it right now!?” _You wish!_ “No tomorrow is fine, my lord! And I assume, your sister wouldn’t want us to do it here, in front of everyone.” “Very well, your grace, tomorrow it is then! You can join us here after breakfast.” Lord Stark told him and retired to his chamber mere moments later.

And Gendry followed his example soon after, leaving Edric, Brienne and his men behind, who evidently still enjoyed the festivities. Back in his chamber, he slumped down onto his bed, too tired to even pull his boots off; he closed his eyes and was about to fall asleep. But then he noticed the cool breeze coming from the window. _Wait!_ He had kept it closed, because of … _Balerion!?!_ He darted to the window, facing the gigantic ancient godswood, with the three ponds underneath the Guest House windows – fed by a hot spring, Arya once had told him. But he stared at the old oak tree, whose branches were almost as thick as its trunk, reaching all the way to his window. _That damn girl!_ “I bet, you didn’t hiss at her, you damn traitor!” he called out into the night; yet, smiled.

The following morning, Gendry went to the Great Hall to finally get to speak with Arya. And against his uncle’s and Barristan’s advice, he went in alone – to prove he wasn’t afraid of a pack of wolves. Yet, an instant later he came to realise that wasn’t entirely true. At the high table sat young Lord Stark, as regal as a man can be, flanked by his brothers on one side and Theon Greyjoy on the other. Though, that wasn’t what made his heart skip a beat, but rather the four fully grown direwolves at their feet. The two bigger grey ones – _Robb’s and Bran’s most likely_ – bared their teeth at him, while Shaggydog, the only one he could identify for sure, snarled as if he were about to rip his throat out; he only calmed down when the smaller grey one – _probably Sansa’s Lady_ – gave him a soft head-butt. _This was no audience. It was a trial_ , Gendry realised. _In every meaning of the word_. And there was still no sign of Arya. _Of course!_

Stepping towards the dais, Gendry bowed to them, “Thank you, my lords, for receiving me so early after the wonderful feast last night.” “You requested an audience, your grace, what can we do for you?” Lord Stark began outright, sporting once again a slightly frigid undertone and an obviously false smile. “My request is actually rather simple, Lord Stark,” Gendry replied, “I’d like to speak with your sister!” “Forgive me, your grace, but that’s impossible!” Robb Stark proclaimed coolly and Gendry demanded, “And why’s that, my lord?” trying not to sound outraged. “Well, your grace, history has made us wary of southerners, especially when it comes to southern princes and Stark daughters!” the acting Lord of Winterfell challenged and watched him closely, undoubtedly waiting for him to lose his temper. _You wish!_ “My lords, I’m not Rhaegar.” Gendry told them, now really outraged, but he didn’t want them to know. “That’s good to hear!” Robb Stark stated smugly, “But the thing is, I don’t know you, your grace! What kind of man you are … So, I hope you understand I had to take certain precautions prior your arrival.” _Yeah, those stuck out a mile._

 “I fully understand, my lord.” Gendry replied, pretending to be calm, “But I really need to speak with her, to clear up a misunderstanding.” “You call _that_ a misunderstanding!?” Robb Stark hissed outraged, “You thought you could force her into marriage, _your grace!_ ” “No, my lord, _I did not!_ ” Gendry countered equally outraged, but quickly regained his composure, “I asked for her hand, yes. But I heard of the betrothal and wedding announcement the same way as you! In a formal message, sent to my uncle in Storm’s End. And I assured your father as I assure you, there won’t be a betrothal or a wedding. Not until your sister says so. And if you want that all formally in writing, fine!” “You’d give us a written assurance!?” Robb Stark stared at him in disbelief. “Yes, my lords.” Gendry proclaimed, “Though, I have one condition.” “Of course you have, your grace!” Robb Stark scoffed unsurprised. But Gendry ignored it and went on, “You and your father assure in return, you won’t betroth her to anyone else.” before he realised, _she’d probably dislike that as well_ , and added, “Unless of course, she’d want to … marry someone else …” But that suggestion only earned him even more wary looks from the high table.

“So, you don’t want to marry Arya!?” Rickon demanded, clearly confused. “I want to marry her, my lord. But not right away! We can wait a few years, if that’s what she wants.” “And that’s why you’re here, your grace? To tell her that!?” Bran Stark inquired warily and Gendry nodded, “Pretty much, my lord.” “Could’ve sent a raven!” Theon Greyjoy mocked, before he remembered who Gendry was, “Um, your grace!” “Hardly, I’m still waiting for her reply to my last note!” Gendry snorted, before he got serious again, “And I think a matter like that is better settled eye to eye.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible in this case, your grace.” Robb Stark proclaimed, “Our sister isn’t here.” _Did they really expect him to buy that horseshit!? After last night?_ And the youngest of the pack even snarled, “You can’t take her away! She’s out of your reach now, princel-” and got elbowed by his older brother, so he quickly corrected, “Um, your grace!” _Bloody hells_ , they wanted him to believe, she were at the Wall! _Okay, she was fucking with him … time to turn the tables!_ “My lords, I truly don’t want to offend you,” Gendry cleared his throat, trying not to display a smug grin, “but how come she climbed through my window and stole my tomcat during the feast last night!? Quite a thing to do for someone who’s currently located at the Wall!?”

 _Got you!_ For a flash, all four faces at the high table looked at a loss, _they didn’t know!_ “Your grace, no offence either, but your imagination seems a bit … _exuberant!_ ” Robb Stark countered, no longer concealing his anger, “I assure you, my sister _isn’t_ in Winterfell.” _Rubbish! As if she wasn’t somewhere here around, enjoying her brothers attempt to roast him._ _Probably even from behind that rear door over there._ “If I’d to guess, I’d say your cat stupidly climbed out the window on its own!” Theon Greyjoy mocked openly, “And fell prey to one of them …” he pointed at the direwolves; and the silver one yawned as if sated. When Gendry only nodded in annoyance, Lord Stark added, “But of course, I’ll have my men help you in retrieving your pet, your grace.” “Never mind, my lord.” Gendry snorted angrily, “If she wants him so bad, she can keep him! He likes her better anyway.”

“Your grace, I know the game you’re playing. It won’t work, not with Arya.” Lord Stark hissed, “She’s made her decision, and I think it’s pretty clear, she isn’t interested in your courtship!” “I beg to differ, my lord!” Gendry shot back. “As is your right, your grace!” Robb Stark retorted angrily, “But it won’t change anything. She isn’t here and that should be your answer!” “Forgive me, my lord, but I’d prefer to be _certain_ of that before I depart.” Gendry countered boldly, “If it’s not too much trouble for you, of course!?” “Not at all, your grace!” Robb Stark replied, evidently trying not to lose his temper, “You and your men are welcome to stay in the Guest House, as long as you please.” “Thank you, my lord. That’s generous of you!” Gendry retorted, but of course Robb Stark wasn’t done yet, “But it’s a waste of time, your grace! The sooner you realise that, the better.” _Doubt it._ “I guess, that’s a chance I’ve to take then!” Gendry snorted, fuming internally no better than Robb Stark, who growled, “Fine, your grace, as you wish! Is there anything else we can help you with?”

“Actually, yes, my lords!” Gendry retorted, “Since I’m apparently staying for a while, I’d like to seize the opportunity to get to know some of the North. It’s people, mainly. And I don’t mean just the highborn delegates you so foresightedly invited, Lord Stark. I’d like to meet some smallfolk, too.” “Uh, I understand, your grace!” Theon grinned mischievously, “You can join me tonight for a tour to the winter town!” “Thank you, my lord! I’m sure some of my men would gladly join you. Though, as for myself, I’ve to decline.” Gendry retorted politely, baffling the young Ironborn. But his eyes quickly narrowed, and he snorted, “Northern whores ain’t fancy enough for his grace, huh!?” “No, I’m just not into whores in general, my lord!” Gendry countered calmly and perplexed Theon Greyjoy for good, “I thought you were Robert’s son!?” he blurted. “Yes, but not Robert himself, _my lord!_ ” Gendry growled, noticing how closely the Stark brothers studied him. _Did they think him that stupid!? No way, he’d step over that brothel’s threshold to give them a reason to call him unsuitable for Arya!_  

“But I’d really like to meet some smallfolks, if you’d allow it, Lord Stark?” “Sure, your grace, why shouldn’t you talk to them? I’ve nothing to hide!” Robb Stark told him unimpressed. _Yeah, you do! Your damn sister_. “Excellent, my lord! Could I start with your master blacksmith? I’d like to ask a favour of him.” Gendry proclaimed, “Of course against payment! I just wanted to make sure, I’m not overstepping any boundaries here, Lord Stark.” “That’s fine by me, your grace! My blacksmith’s a free man, he alone decides, if takes your commission or not!” Robb Stark snorted in a slightly dismissive undertone, “And you’re the future king, you can roam these lands as you like, anyway!” _As long as I stay away from your sister?!_

And he understood. Gendry knew from his own experience, how uncomfortable it was to realise, one’s baby sister was no little girl anymore – _how furious he gets when boys and men gaze at her, or when those fuckers even dare to smile at her, but that was nothing compared to the shock, when he had caught Myrcella smiling back at one of them_ – So, yeah, Gendry understood exactly how Robb Stark felt about him. And considering the circumstances, the northern lord could actually count himself lucky. _At least, he wasn’t his friend!_ Still, Gendry knew, there was nothing he could do or say to make Robb Stark accept him. Trystane had tried to talk to him, and it had only made things worse … until the day Myrcella had threatened to tell their mother about the next girl he’d like. And _the gods indeed were cruel._ Scarcely a fortnight later, Arya had stepped around the corner in the vault – providing his cunning baby sister the ultimate weapon against him. That had made him stop snarling at Trystane almost instantly. _He still hated it_. And he didn’t want to think about his friend and his sister … but to his own surprise, _he survived it so far!_ And so would Robb Stark. _If he could win Arya!_

And in order to achieve that, Gendry knew, _first, he needed to lure her out … from wherever she was hiding_. And he needed to be patient, no matter how hard that seemed right now. _Curiosity killed the cat … but had led the She-wolf more than once out of her den._ _It might work again!_  At least, going by her actions these past days.

So, after his ‘audience’ with the acting Lord of Winterfell, Gendry had gone straight to the castle smithy, to meet her old friend Mikken. Who unsurprisingly turned out a tough nut to crack. After hearing his request, to rent one of his forges for the time of his stay, the master blacksmith looked quite offended, “Your grace, I assure you I can make anything you need!” obviously fearing, Gendry would have brought along his own smith. “I’m sure you can, Master Mikken! I’ve seen your work. Lady Arya’s Needle. It’s flawless!” he appeased. “If that’s the case, then why wouldn’t you trust me with your commission, your grace!?” the old blacksmith growled. “Well, good master, I’m a smith myself! Currently working on my masterpiece. That’s why I’d like to rent one of your forges.” Gendry explained, “Also, hammering helps me clear my head! And I really could need that right now.” At that, the master blacksmith looked at him as if he had lost his mind, “Your grace’s a smith!?” the old man stammered doubtfully. “Armourer, precisely. Trained with Tobho Mott in King’s Landing.” “The Qohorik? Who makes the Kingsguard armours?” the old smith questioned, still not convinced. “Yes, that’s him!” Gendry went on, “I know, this is unusual! And I understand, you don’t want any obscure foreigners tampering with your forges, Master Mikken. But if you’d allow me, I’ll show you I’m no one obscure in a smithy!”

After he assured, it were in agreement with Lord Stark, Mikken eventually gave in. So, Gendry spent the next few hours forging anything the sceptical northern smith asked. Starting with a simple nail, then a bodkin-point – which made him chuckle – and a blade for a knife. At first all the men in the forge watched him disbelievingly, but upon seeing him make that nail within a few skilled moves, Gendry fully enjoyed seeing their jaws drop. _They had thought him a spoiled boasting brat!_ Yet, after seeing him hammer the blade, Master Mikken was the first one to turn away and leave him to the task, until sometime in the afternoon, the old smith growled, “You can rent that forge, your grace!” and Gendry could have sworn he had heard a slightly approving undertone. _There we go!_

But only when he returned with the trunk containing Arya’s armour parts and started to unpack, the old master’s eyes widened somewhat, “You made these, your grace!?” and Gendry could only nod, knowing the Winterfell smith wasn’t easily impressed. “That’s fine work!” Mikken approved, and eventually he even remarked, “She’ll like it!” And a better compliment the old smith couldn’t have made him. Gendry had needed to hear that, from someone who knew her all her life. _This armour was his last chance to win her …_

As he had to realise in the following days and sennights. Gendry had been in Winterfell for over a moon’s turn, without even getting a glimpse at her. He had hoped she would show up eventually, and if it were just to furiously tell him to fuck off. But nothing, absolutely nothing had happened. No sign of Arya. Except that Balerion had suddenly showed up again, five days after he had disappeared. The old tom had walked into Mikken’s forge as if he owned the place, giving Gendry’s calves each a head-butt and had rolled up into a knot on top the trunk for Arya’s armour. “So, now we’re suddenly friends again!?” Gendry had snorted, “How about you show me where you’ve been hiding this whole time!?” _With her, undoubtedly_. But the tom had only briefly lifted his head, staring at him, as if asking, “Jealous!?” _And he was! Of a damn old cat …_ Who had disappeared and reappeared in the time afterwards as he pleased, leaving Gendry not once a clue where in that goddamn gigantic keep he went to.

And Theon Greyjoy had of course teased him instantly, upon seeing Balerion follow him to his quarters one night, “Seems like Shaggydog spit him out again, your grace!” _Yeah, a real joker you are!_

During all those days in Winterfell, Gendry had never managed to get Theon Greyjoy or Robb Stark to warm up towards him. Not even a little. Of course, Lord Stark had seen himself forced to entertain him and his companions according their status, like organising a hunt for him and the northern noblemen three days after the feast. _But he clearly mistook him for his father_. Gendry had never found that joy in killing as his father did, and thus, he had rather seized the opportunity to inform himself first-hand about the current situation in the North – discussing politics, economics, infrastructure and other matters with the young nobles present. _He might be a lovesick fool, but no ignorant idiot when it came to those things!_ However, the disapproving look Lord Stark had sported while watching him with the those nobles, had made clear, _he thought he only did it to impress him, to win Arya’s hand_. And even after most of the other nobles had returned to their families’ ancestral homes, Robb Stark had a hard time to accept, Gendry actually cared about politics, economics and social matters and that the winter following this long summer actually worried him; and Greyjoy had always backed his friend in his wariness of Gendry.

But the younger Stark brothers had eventually began to open up to him – at least a bit. Bran Stark, clearly a calmer and more diplomatic personality than his older brother, had always treated him politely and undoubtedly felt less threatened by him. But the biggest surprise had been the youngest Stark. Two days after Gendry had started working in the smithy, Rickon suddenly stood in the forge, demanding angrily, “What’re you doing here!?” “Making armour, obviously!” Gendry teased, once again astonished how much the little lord reminded him of his older sister. “ _Why!?_ ” the boy growled. “Because your sister asked me to!” “That’s for Arya!?” Rickon frowned and Gendry confirmed, “Yes, my lord.” After furrowing his brow even more, the little Stark wordlessly turned on his heels and left.

But a couple of days later he showed up again, blurting, “Could you make one for me, too!?” “Well, um, Mikken’s your smith! Don’t you think you should task him with your commission, my lord!?” Gendry retorted somewhat abashed. “He’s Arya’s smith, too!” the little lord snapped, “Yet, your making armour for her!” “Yes, because she asked me back in King’s Landing.” Gendry explained, “Master Mikken just kindly allows me to finish it here. You see, I want it to be her nameday gift!” And once again, Rickon Stark stomped wordlessly out of the door.

Only to return two days later, snorting, “Listen! I asked Mikken to make me one, but he said, if I want one _like_ _that_ , I’d have to ask you! So, will you make me one!?” “I’d like to, my lord!” Gendry retorted, “But it doesn’t feel right to steal work from Master Mikken!” “It’s not stealing, when Mikken said I should ask you!” the youngest Stark huffed, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know, my lord! I’d hate to insult a good man like Mikken.” Gendry refused heavy-heartedly, knowing he really wanted her brothers to like him. “Arya was right, you’re stupid!” Rickon snapped and left again. Yet, he kept returning to the forge every once and a while, chewing on his lower lip and watching as his sister’s armour assumed shape and even told him, “You know, I won’t tell her you’re making this … since it’s a nameday gift!” Hearing that, made it even harder for Gendry to not make armour for the little lord.

Yet, that night, three sennights before her nameday, when Gendry was nearly finished with her armour and about to give up hope to ever appease her, Arya suddenly returned _… from wherever she had been_. But he only noticed the following morning, when he opened the window to let Balerion out, and found a bodkin-point and small roll of parchment in its socket. _That damn girl!_ He grinned and unrolled it to read, “Leave! There is nothing here for you!” and for a moment he saw his hopes crushed for good, but then he looked at the arrowhead and realised, _that’s not the one she made back then!_ And that could only mean, she still had the original one _… it still meant something to her!_

Gendry got dressed instantly and went to the Great Hall, where the Winterfell people just started breaking their fast. Seeing Theon Greyjoy and the three Stark brothers at the dais, he walked straight towards it and slammed the parchment angrily onto their table, “Found this on my window sill, just a moment ago, Lord Stark!” and her brother looked at the note and clenched his fist, before displaying a false smile once more, “Apologies, your grace! Northerners can be quite _wary_ of foreigners. And apparently someone thinks, you shouldn’t extend your stay much longer …” _Yeah, you, evidently!_ “Oh, I know damn well who wrote and planted it, my lord!” Gendry scoffed, “It’s your sister’s handwriting.” “And how’d you come to know that, _your grace!?_ ” Robb Stark retorted, almost snarling. “Why don’t you ask her!?” Gendry challenged and Theon Greyjoy snorted dismissively, “Anyone could’ve put that on the sill, your grace!” before Bran blurted, “I did it! I forged Arya’s handwriting and put it there … so she can come home!” _Unbelievable?!_

“And what else did you leave on my sill, Lord Brandon!?” Gendry challenged, puzzling the younger man, who shot an insecure side-glance at his older brother. So, Gendry didn’t want to torture him any longer and pulled out the bodkin-point and placed it next to the note, “She left this as well! Made it herself, at Mikken’s forge.” causing the two older Stark brothers exchange a questioning glance. “But it’s not the one she wants me to believe it were …” Gendry went on, “The one she made in King’s Landing, _with me!”_ “And your grace can tell the difference how!?” Theon Greyjoy inquired mockingly and Gendry stated calmly, “This one’s cheaper steel!”

“Are you suggesting, Mikken’s work is rubbish?” Bran snapped defensively, glaring at him. “No, my lord!” Gendry appeased, “Master Mikken’s undoubtedly one of the best blacksmiths in the Seven Kingdoms. I’m just saying, your sister used cheaper steel for this one than I had given her in King’s Landing!” “And why should we care _which_ arrowhead she leaves on some sill to threaten you!?” Robb Stark snarled, finally no longer denying it was her. “It wasn’t a threat, my lord!” Gendry countered, “She just wanted me to believe, she wouldn’t care about me anymore! And I’d like to discuss the matter with her now, since she evidently has returned from her adventure beyond the Wall.” “She doesn’t want to talk to you, your grace, isn’t that obvious by now!?” Lord Stark growled and nodded at her message. “And yet, somehow she _does_ want to talk to me!” Gendry objected, nodding at the parchment as well.

But still, Robb Stark refused to let him see her, stating, Arya were done with him and the south and would never return there, least of all to marry him. So, Gendry stormed furiously from the Great Hall – _before he’d do something he’d come to regret –_ and retreated for the rest of the day to the forge. To finally get her armour finished and to not have to see _her fucking big brother_ anymore _… or Greyjoy and his over-confident smirking_.

However, at nightfall in his chamber, he decided to leave her a reply. Since his gut instinct told him, _she’d come to his window again._ Yes, he had vowed to Ned Stark to keep his courtship within the appropriate bounds _… but how was he supposed to woo her like that!?_ She or rather her big brother constantly saying, he wouldn’t get to see her. _They left him no choice_ , and so he wrote, “You are getting better. Your septa must be real proud of her little blacksmith lady.” and planted it underneath a small stone.

And indeed, the next morning he found her reply. Though, not the kind he had hoped for. She had just scrunched his note up and buried it underneath the stone. _Gods, why did she have to make EVERYTHING so fucking complicated!?_ Gendry wanted to scream in frustration and spent another day in the forge, before he left her another message, “What is your damn problem? “Why can we not talk? We can do it right here. You stay in the tree, and me in the window. No one would have to know.” _Least of all your idiot brother!_ And to that she actually replied, “My damn problem? Seriously? What is yours?” And he answered, “That I love you.” But naturally to that she hadn’t responded anymore. _Damnit._

Gendry had thought, that was the last of it. That she would avoid him again, even in writing. But two nights later, he suddenly felt cold steel against his skin. Flying his eyes open in panic, he found Arya standing over him and Needle at his throat. “ _What the fuck!?”_ he snapped. “Yeah, _what the fuck_ , indeed!” she parroted him, “What do you want?” “What _I_ want is pretty clear by now, don’t you think!?” he scoffed, getting angry at her for still playing dumb, “The question is what do _you_ want, Arya!” “Not to be a stupid queen!” she spat dismissively. “As you keep saying …” Gendry snorted, glaring back at her, “But what about the things you _don’t_ say!? I want to hear _them!_ ”

For a blink of an eye, he thought, she might give in, as she studied him silently, but then her expression went blank, “Well, in that case, I can’t help you!” her voice was as cold as ice and she removed the blade from his throat and turned to the window. “ _No!_ ” he swiftly grabbed her wrist, “We’re not done here!” “We are, YOUR GRACE.” she snarled, and Needle was in her other hand before he knew. _Damn, was she fast!_ So, he yanked at her wrist, and flung his other arm around her to overbear her, resulting in them both toppling over to the floor, “ _Stop playing games with me!_ ” Gendry furiously ripped the sword from her hand, ignoring he slightly cut himself in doing so.

“ _Get off of me_ , you bloody oaf!” Arya raged, “Or do you want me cry bloody murder, so my brother’s men barge in here, seeing you groping and attacking me!?” she spat hateful. “Yeah, do that, _go on!_ ” he growled into her ear, “Make me a prisoner here, and your family in the Red Keep … and all because you’re too afraid to admit _you love me!_ ” Gendry challenged, fuming. “Um, I’ve news for you, _your grace_ , I DON’T!” she snorted mockingly. “Then you could’ve just told me! In King's Landing, or here in an audience with your brothers.” he shot back annoyed, “But you didn’t, and we both know why! You’re afraid, your brothers see what I see, that you love me as much as I love you!” “So, you came all the way to Winterfell, only to hear me say three stupid words!?” Arya scoffed at him and he spat frustrated, “That’s _exactly_ why I’m here! For you to finally admit _three damn stupid words!_ ”

“But hearing them won’t change anything!” she huffed. “It changes _everything!_ ” her stubbornness drove him mad. “No, _it doesn’t!_ You said it once yourself, you want a woman who loves everything about you … and _I don’t!_ ” she claimed angrily. “ _Liar!_ ” he could barely restrain himself from yelling at her now. “I’m not!” she stated stubbornly. “Damnit, Arya!  What are you afraid of!? All I want is a _chance_ , I’m not talking about a betrothal or marriage right away!” he snapped and she hissed, “ _But eventually!_ ” “Yeah, in a few years, would that be so bad? To be with me? At my side?” he demanded. “ _Yes!_ ” “Why!?” “Because I don’t want to, you stupid princeling, that’s why?!”

 _He had enough! He was done. With her. And her damn brothers. Winterfell and the whole North … everything!_ Gendry let go off her and got up, hitting the stone wall closest to them in utter frustration. And over that, he almost hadn’t heard her say, “I love the blacksmith. Not the prince.” _What!?_ He turned around, utterly stunned over hearing her actually admit it. He stared at her, as she grabbed Needle and stepped to the window, her shoulders drooped in defeat. “ _But_ _I am that man!_ The blacksmith …” Gendry tried to stop her, now completely confused and desperate. “No!” she looked up at him, close to tears and sounded absolutely heartbroken, “You are the man who soon is to be king, and when you are, the blacksmith is gone … and you need a queen, and that’s not me!” “But I love you!” he pleaded and cupped her face. Yet, she pulled his hand away and whispered, “I know.” and got onto the sill and was out of the window, before he could stop her. Leaving him to watch her climb swiftly down the tree. And without glancing back, she disappeared into the darkness of the godswood. _Disappearing from his life_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION! My dear readers, now you’ve got a choice to make for yourselves:
> 
> So this was now the last chapter of this story. Are you okay with this ending? That Arya didn’t end up with Gendry? That she chose herself over him and he the Seven Kingdoms over her? Do you think it was the right thing to do, sacrificing what they could have had? Well, then you should think carefully if you should consider this story finished at this point. 
> 
> Though, if you want this story to have an happy ending, then I can tell you, do not despair (yet). There is hope! Because I have an epilogue in store, with an alternative ending, where Arya and Gendry do get their happy end.  
> The final scene of that epilogue is already written, I just need to phrase the outline for that scene into full sentences and paragraphs. But I think since I plan to make it a rather short epilogue, it shouldn’t take much time to publish it. Probably no more than a week. So please, stay calm, if you were rooting for a happy end!
> 
> MY OPINION ONLY:
> 
> Anyway, both endings, Arya and Gendry not getting together (this chapter) or getting together in the way you will see in the epilogue (next chapter) are in my opinion the only in-character-Arya-outcomes in a Prince Gendry AU.  
> But of course, it is totally fine, if you disagree and like Arya becoming queen to a trueborn Gendry Baratheon. I just don’t. At all. I think it is out of character for her. Since to me Arya is Batman and Gendry is her Robin – not the other way around!
> 
> And therefore, I can see Arya only in one keep as lady/queen, and that is Winterfell, as its ruler! And even that only if Jon, Sansa, Rickon (if he doesn’t go mental on Skagos) don’t survive. Because I like to see her as free spirit, that doesn’t have to be nailed to the spot, so that she can travel her world if she feels like it and I can totally imagine Gendry joins her on her travels. After all, canon (books/show) proved, they make excellent travel buddies.
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> I am saying this already here, so these of you, who rather want this sad ending than the happy one, also have a chance to read it:
> 
> THANK YOU! For your patience and support and your many kudos and lovely comments! They really kept me going with this. And so I hope you enjoyed my story and don’t feel you wasted all your time with it. Thank you for reading this, you were a great audience!
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> GENDRY
> 
> So, now the roles were reversed. Arya is the one in the comfort zone and he is the fish out of water, having to deal with his idiot father and lioness mother in the south and mean (big) brothers… who are less subtle but no less effective xD
> 
> ARYA
> 
> In case you wonder why she refuses to see Gendry so long? Well, in her opinion they already broke up in King’s Landing, right after the kiss. Then he left for Storm’s End and then she escaped from the Red Keep, meaning she had over two months to ‘get him out of her system’ before he arrived in Winterfell. 
> 
> So, just think of your own breakups … it’s easier to deal with it, when you don’t have to see your ex for a while after the break up, but then that first time you see them again, it’s mostly awfully awkward, no matter if you still love them or not. You just don’t want to do deal with that, with them. You don’t want to be reminded of the break-up and all that bad experiences/feelings. And if your heart was broken, meeting your ex again for the first time after the breakup usually means all your efforts to get over that person vanish into thin air and you’re right back at square one. And that’s just like Arya felt/feels. She was getting better and then he came to Winterfell and ruined that. And she didn’t want to give him that power over her life, to make her feel miserable again. And so she avoided him as long as she could. 
> 
> Yet, eventually she realised, there was no other way but to tell him it’s over, or else he wouldn’t have left, at least not so soon. He’s stubborn, he could have stayed at least for another month or two. And she wanted finally to move on, to get to roam her home again freely, without lurking in the shadows.
> 
> ROBB & MIKKEN (Check comment #1)
> 
> MY OPINION ABOUT THE FIRST TWO EPISODES OF GAME OF THRONES SEASON 8 (Check comments #2 and #3 )


	19. Epilogue - An Elephant named Gendry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry left Winterfell three days after Arya told him, she could never be his queen. And all he left behind is Balerion and lots of heartache for Arya. And it is worse than before, since now she knows it is final. Or at least it looks the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it took me again a bit longer to publish as promised. I wanted to keep this epilogue short, since it's only purpose is to give you my dears readership (and me) an alternative ending, a loophole for the Arya and Gendry.
> 
> But then my first attempt was getting bigger and bigger ... and I constantly got stuck. So I had to rewrite the whole thing. And as usual, I am not entirely satisfied with the outcome now. Some paragraphs I absolutely hate, I just could get them right. But some I like quite a lot now.
> 
> And I hope I can appease those of you readers, who wanted a happy ending for Arya and Gendry. And if it still wasn't enough, then maybe you should check out my first one-shot sequel for "That's Not Me", which I will upload right after I published this epilogue and the end notes for this here.

That night, Arya actually returned to Castle Cerwyn, even though she hated it there – and every moment she spent there made her hate it even more. Medger Cerwyn unmistakably deemed her too stupid to see what he was up to, but she understood perfectly well; why he so generously had offered to hide her from her royal suitor. _Too well_. If King’s Landing had taught her one thing, then it undoubtedly was to read more closely between the lines. _Especially when unmarried men were involved_. And his son Cley may have been the first, but sadly not the last heir or young lord that had sent her a raven, expressing his ‘relief’ over her return to the North. Of course, none had dared to call the spade a spade, since technically she had still been betrothed to the future king then. But the message had been clear. Her rejection of a southern prince had apparently led the Northerners to believe she would rather want to marry one of them.

And a part of her had cursed herself for choosing to stay at Cerwyn, because of that. She could have gone to Jon at Castle Black. Robb and Theon had even urged her to go there – instead of getting other suitors’ hopes up. And she had even been on her way there. Yet, one sudden day, she hadn’t been able to ride one more foot further north, despite knowing Jon was waiting for her. Without warning, or giving the men escorting her any explanation, she had turned her steed around and had ridden south again. Originally, just to see _him_. _For one last time. Just from afar, as a sort of goodbye_. Since she hadn’t had the chance when she had left King’s Landing.

But of course that plan had gone massively wrong as soon as she had seen _him_. Stalking him one night on the road had somehow led to another, and had eventually resulted in her accepting Lord Medger’s offer to host her for the time of his visit. Just so Robb would find sleep at night – instead of constantly worrying about Gendry trying to steal or seduce her _… or whatever nonsense his overprotective big brother mind had thought might happen_ , if she had stayed in her chamber in Winterfell. 

Nonetheless, had Arya ultimately snuck back into Winterfell. Too annoyed by Cley Cerwyn following her around like a pup, and his father continually praising his alleged many talents – after Robb had made clear, the only one in charge over Arya’s future was she herself. So, she had secretly moved in into the First Keep, into her old wooden play fortress on the third storey, where Balerion had kept the mice and rats at bay since she had freed him from the Guest House.

Yet, the longer she had stayed there, the more it had pissed her off. She had gotten mad at herself for sticking around – instead of going to Jon – and mad at the Cerwyns for taking advantage of the situation like this. Mad at Robb for behaving ridiculously like a mother bear, and mad at Gendry for staying and staying in Winterfell _… as if it were forever._ Worse even! Not only had he managed to talk Mikken into renting him one of the forges, the old blacksmith and the other men from the smithy had even started to accept him in their midst. Which had fuelled her anger even more.

After her return from King’s Landing, it had taken her almost two fortnights to settle back in at Winterfell. Especially the first few days had been astonishingly awkward, Arya had felt like a stranger in her own home. _She had changed. But Winterfell hadn’t. At least not much._ She had tried everything to get rid of that feeling, like resuming the exact same daily routines she had had before she had left – spending the mornings in the training yard with the men, racing Nymeria over the hills and meadows into the Wolfswood in the early afternoons, and hanging out with Mycah before supper; if his father hadn’t needed him in the butchery. But she couldn’t even chase a cat anymore without instantly thinking of Balerion, which inevitably led to thinking of _him_. And she couldn’t go riding with her brothers and Theon anymore, without missing Ned, Myrcella, Tommen, Trystane and even Sansa – and of course _him_ again.

However, Mikken’s forge had been the worst. It had once been a safe haven for her, but during the first sennight after her return, she hadn’t been able to step a foot over the smithy’s threshold. Even though, she had wanted to, _desperately_. Yet, only hearing the sounds of steel being hammered had made her want to run, as far away from the steaming heat and the typical smithy scents as possible. 

And when she eventually had forced herself to see Mikken at the forge, it had been awful. The moment she had stepped through that invisible wall, separating the cool air in the courtyard from the heat in the smithy, her mind had instantly conjured a picture of _him_ – his bare back in Mott’s shop. She had to turn around and lean against the brick wall outside, squinting her eyes shut to keep the tears from spilling. And when she finally had managed to enter, Mikken had to do all the talking that first day – she had just sat on her old bench in the corner, watching him and the others work; trying to remove _him_ from her memory.

But every night abed, she had found herself falling asleep with her fingers enclosed around her bodkin-point again. Although, she had eventually persuaded Mikken to let her make new ones and had spent a whole steel bar on arrowheads – most of them even better than the one she had made with _him_ – she still hadn’t treasured any of them as much as the original one. And when the old smith had asked, “Who taught you that, little lady?” she hadn’t been able to say his name. “Just some armourer I knew in King’s Landing.” she had claimed, her voice breaking, though, as she had tried to convince herself, Mikken were the only blacksmith she needed.

 _And yet there he was now! With her Mikken. Befriending her friends. Usurping her forge._ Which she just had ‘reclaimed’ less than two moon’s turns ago. He had been hijacking her entire home, _as if it were all his!_ So, of course, she had been furiously mad at him.

But not exclusively because of that. After her return to Winterfell, Jon had promised to come visiting for her nameday; and to take her to the Wall afterwards. _So, she really needed him gone. Before Jon arrived_. And not only because she hadn’t wanted to hide in her own home, when her favourite sibling finally came visiting. Sure, she had wanted to be there for Jon, every moment of his stay. And also hadn’t wanted to fear, she would run south again, when she would head to the Wall with him. But most of all, she had feared, _Jon would see right through her_. See what Robb apparently had still failed to see. How pathetic she had become, _because of a man!_ She, who always had claimed, she would never fall in love … like stupid Sansa and stupid Jeyne. _Well, look at you now! Stupider than both of them …_

Thus, when Gendry still had made no move to leave, three weeks before her nameday, she had tried to give him a push into the right direction. But her lousy attempt to get rid of him had naturally blown up right into her face. Not only had he seen instantly through her little bluff, but it had also seemed to give him hope again. Even from afar she had noticed how his face had lit up, how his glance had wandered over the keep again, hoping to get a glimpse of her. And of course he had interpreted her message as an invitation to leave her notes from then on, luring her from her makeshift bed in the First Keep, night after night … just as he had in King’s Landing. _Putting her right back to square one_. Until she no longer could bear it, and had stupidly snuck into his chamber …

So, yes, that night Arya returned to Cerwyn, despite hating it there. Just for the simple reason, that it was half a day’s ride away and racing Nymeria had always helped to clear her mind. And she craved that desperately that night, to get him out of her mind again. But of course, it only lasted until she was abed, where she found herself angrily beating at the mattress. _Why did he have to come!?_ _She had finally started to feel better! And for what!? Just so he could ruin all her efforts again? So she would feel worse than before? So she would feel like she had made the worst mistake in her life!? Even though she knew, she hadn’t. She couldn’t have done it! Become his stupid queen … not even for him. She’d die if she’d do that! Slowly, bit by bit_. _He probably wouldn’t even notice at first, but she would. She would feel herself dying, wasting away in her own body, like on that first night in the Red Keep. Only it wouldn’t stop, it would go on and on, turning her into a living breathing corpse, an empty shell, a ghost of her former self, right next to him_. _He could just as well lock her up in one of the black cells under his damn Red Keep … the outcome were the same._ And yet, there she was now, silently crying herself to sleep at Castle Cerwyn.

She felt so miserable after that night, she didn’t return to Winterfell anymore. She just couldn’t. _Not as long as he was there_. Instead, she spent her days alone with her stallion and Nymeria in the Wolfswood. And even refused to meet with her brothers and their wolves. Only Lady she had allowed to find them. _Because_ _Sansa knew_ , unlike their brothers. She didn’t want them to know. _Ever_. She just wanted to forget _him_. _Or at least get her act together_ , to pretend she wouldn’t care about him, before she faced her brothers and Theon again.

However, three days later at nightfall she was headed off in the Cerwyn courtyard by Cley, who had a raven scroll from Robb. But reading it, surprisingly didn’t provide the relief she had hoped for, instead it caused a numbing pang in her chest. _He left._ And all colour drained from her face. _He’s gone._ She stumbled thunderstruck back towards Nymeria and Lady, and grabbed her steed’s reins. “Thank you, my lord … for your hospitality and all,” she murmured absently, “but I’m going home now … bye.” mounting up before Cley even could respond.

And upon her return to Winterfell just about midnight, she handed her steed wordlessly to the guards at the South Gate and ran over the courtyard to the Guest House. _To see for herself_. Barging through the door into his quarters, she found the rooms behind all dark and empty – the furniture covered with blankets again and the window shutters closed. _As if he’d never been there._ Causing her to struggle for breath. She yanked the shutters and windows open and ripped the blankets off again, but _he was gone. For real._ And all she could do, was slump down onto the floor in defeat, as something inside of her shattered into a thousand pieces. _He was gone_. _For good_.

She couldn’t tell for how long she had sat there on the floor of his bedchamber, staring into space. But her tears had already dried on her cheeks, when Balerion found her and showered her in head-butts and purring, ripping her from her dead still state. “You’re still here!?” she whispered incredulous and pulled the old tom into a tight hug, petting him in desperate need for some comfort. Yet, only after he had fallen asleep in her lap, she noticed the trunk in the corner by the window, _that hadn’t been there before?!_ and darted towards it; not caring to wake Balerion rudely in doing so.

 _It was his!_ She knew even before she turned the key in the lock and opened it, to find a layer of black velvet with a small jewellery box atop of it. Which she grasped promptly, knowing exactly what was inside – her necklace! _He had kept it … all this time_. And a small note, “It’s yours. Wear it. Both. Wear both.” She felt new hot tears running down her cheeks, as her left hand enclosed around the wolf’s head and her right shakily removed the velvet, revealing her armour; and causing her whole body to tremble. She pulled out one part after another and laid them carefully onto the bed covers – her fingers tracing over his artwork in between her sobs.

“That stupid, stupid bull!” she cursed in despair. _How could he do this to her!? He could’ve just as well ripped her heart from her chest! How should she ever wear it!? Without breaking her heart over and over again … what was he thinking, that damn stupid idiot!?_ She pushed everything furiously from the bed and slammed her fists down onto the bedcover, trying to beat away her frustration and heartache. Only to frantically search for the wolf’s head pendant in between the clanking armour parts a moment later. And when she finally retrieved it under one of the gauntlets, she clutched it fiercely to her heart and crawled into the bed, pulling the bedcovers up over her head, shutting out the world.

Until dawn, at least. When reason finally regained the upper hand, making her realise, she didn’t want anyone to see her _there_ _… like that_. She didn’t want anyone to know, how a _stupid southern princeling_ turned her into an even bigger fool than Sansa and Jeyne ever were. So, she packed everything back into to the trunk and locked it up. Well, everything apart from the necklace, which she wore again; hidden under her shirt. _Nobody needed to know_ , she told herself, closing the windows and shutters, before she put the blankets over the furniture again and snuck out of the Guest House before sunrise. To finally move back into her own chamber. To go on with her life. Her life as she had always wanted it to be. Free. Independent. Adventurous. Full of possibilities. _Her life without him …_

 _And it sucked_. He was gone, yet, somehow he was still everywhere, haunting her – and not only in her dreams. Her mind started playing tricks on her, conjuring him all over Winterfell. Be it a tall silhouette disappearing through some doorframe, making her want to run after them to check if it was him. A distant guffaw making her whip around, because it sounded somewhat like him. Or a mop of black hair emerging from a hooded cloak, making her hold her breath. He seemed to be everywhere now, following her around like an invisible shadow. Causing her heart to do a hopeful flip, each time it happened … only to crush it again an instant later. He seemed to have turned into a vengeful ghost, set on punishing and torturing her for the rest of her life. _He was everywhere. And yet nowhere_. He kept vanishing into thin air, slipping through her fingers like water. Over and over again.

Except in Mikken’s forge. At first, Arya had feared it would go like before, that him visiting and staying for so long would have somehow compromised Winterfell and its people for her. That she would avoid and dread anyone and everything, she felt were somehow connected with him now. But strangely the opposite was the case, she felt constantly drawn to those people and places. And most of all to the Winterfell smithy, naturally. The one place, where he was almost tangible. Where no false illusions of him existed, just true and vivid and beautiful memories. And although that meant, her tears were never far from welling up, she still could barely cross the southern courtyard anymore without slipping into the castle forge for a while. To sit on her old bench, listening to the sound of steel being hammered – to pretend it were him, _making the steel sing_. And somehow old Master Mikken seemed to understand, “It will get better, little lady. _Eventually_.” he told her one day, catching her completely off guard. But thankfully that remained the only time he or anyone else addressed the elephant – _named Gendry_ – in the room.

Well, almost. Wild not so-little-anymore pain-in-the-neck Rickon of course kept pestering her about the armour. Daily. Asking her, when he would get to see it and why she wouldn’t wear it, no matter how often she would tell him, she wouldn’t want to. _Because she couldn’t_. An didn’t know if she ever would.

Though, of course Rickon didn’t get that. _How could he!? He was just eleven_. So, unsurprisingly she found him trying to pick the lock on the trunk one morning. And he wasn’t sorry at all, but told her boldly, if she wouldn’t want it, she should give it to him – since he were soon tall enough and anything else were a waste of good steel. _Unbelievable!_ She knew of course, he somehow was right. _He probably had wasted his craftsmanship on her_. But she couldn’t bear to look at the armour, let alone wear it. Therefore she told Rickon gruffly to stay away from the trunk, unless he would want to see its content reforged into chamber pots. “How about that for wasting good steel, smart-arse!?” she threatened all big sister-like, “And now off with you, Syrio and Rodrik are waiting!” shoving him out of the guest quarters and locking the door up behind them. _Just in case_. Before she went to follow him to the training yard.

Though, hearing hammering sounds coming from the smithy, quickly changed her mind. Instead of joining the sparring, she decided to take a slight detour to the castle forge first. _Just for a while._ To calm down, before she would kick Rickon’s arse – for playing the squeaky wheel since almost a sennight now. Thus, she walked into the opposite direction, absently playing with her necklace through the fabric of her shirt. And almost dropped dead when she entered the forge, she froze in her step, thunderstruck, and her heart skipped a beat or two … or more. _Seven hells. Him!_ Well, his back. She could tell, even though he wore a shirt. _She’d recognise that black mop anywhere._ Making her blink, _No, that can’t be!?_ she told herself. But it was still him, when she opened her eyes again, even after the next blink and the one after that, causing her heart to pound at a dizzying rate and her mind to go blank, _how was this possible!?_

She just stood there and stared at him in disbelief, feeling tears well up in her eyes. Until one of the journeymen noticed her and greeted, “M’lady.” bringing quickly everyone else’s attention to her, but her eyes remained fixed on _him_. Watching him turn around – not rapid or surprised, as he had done in Mott’s shop – calmly. And his smile beamed with hope when his eyes met hers, “M’lady.” he bowed to her. Causing her tears to spill and her anger to boil over. “You fucking arsehole!” she charged at him, her fists colliding with his chest, “What the fuck, are you doing here!?” she yelled in between hitting and shoving him. But he only laughed at the blows and caught her wrists, forcing her to stop, “I recall m’lady saying she wanted a blacksmith.” he proclaimed, grinning like a fool now, “So, here I am!”

“I know what I said, you bull-headed idiot!” she shouted and kicked him in the shin, threatening, “Next time it’s my knee again, you fucker!” “ _Ouch!_ ” he hissed in pain, letting go of her to rub his leg, but then teased, “Is this how you treat your blacksmiths in Winterfell!?” he pretended to be outraged, “I think I’ll take up employment elsewhere, then!” “ _Don’t you dare!_ ” she snapped and shoved him again. “I would never-” he assured grinningly, but couldn’t stop teasing her, “Well, unless of course, payment were better otherwhere! You know, I’ve to earn my livelihood now, and there’s so much to pay for … accommodation, clothing, food-” driving her nuts, “Shut up, you stupid bull!” she yelled and shoved him again.

Yet, he only laughed, “Sure, I could do that, but-” earning himself another shove. “ _But!?_ I said, shut up!” she snarled, fuming. “As m’lady commands!” he grinned roguishly and bowed to her again. Mockingly this time. About to shove him once more, she rolled her eyes and snapped, “Don’t call me-” but he cut her short with a kiss; getting ahead of her. And this time she not only kissed him back deliberately, but also pulled him closer by his shirt. Which made him break away, leaning his forehead against hers, he whispered, “No more knee slamming and playing games now, okay? Just you and me, _together_.” Though, instead of an answer all he got was another kiss. One so fierce, it made him chuckle midway through and lift her up in his arms.

Until of a sudden, they heard her name. “ _ARYA!_ ” Robb shouted outraged, making them both break away promptly. _Fuck_. Her brother stepped into the smithy, his fists clenched, glaring at Gendry, “ _What’s going on here!?_ ” he snarled, using his lord voice. “ _Um, …_ we have a new blacksmith?!” Arya offered embarrassed, feeling her face flush bright red, as Gendry set her feet back onto the ground, but not letting go of her. Even though, Robb was fuming, “ _Is that so!?_ ” her brother challenged him. “Yes, my lord.” Gendry confirmed, trying to sound earnest, but wasn’t entirely able to hide his grin. “And _how come_ I don’t know of this!?” Robb demanded angrily, trying to stare him down.

“Because it’s none of your damn business, _my lord!_ ” Arya snapped at her big brother, “ _He’s mine!_ ” “ _WHAT!?_ ” Robb exclaimed, furious and shocked at the same. Making her realise, he got it all wrong. “No, I meant, he’s _my_ blacksmith, you idiot!” she corrected; her face turning a darker shade of red then. Nonetheless, Gendry smiled at her overjoyed, even though it technically was Robb he addressed, “Nope, that’s about right, my lord. I am hers, _if_ she’ll have me!?” embarrassing her even more. “ _Shut up, stupid!_ ” she shoved him again, causing them both to stumble against the anvil behind him. And Gendry asked tongue-in-cheek, “ _Again!?_ M’lady, I don’t think your brother likes me doing that …” “ _Damn right!_ ” Robb snarled, still glaring at him. Yet, Arya was glaring no better, right back at her stupid big brother. “ _I don’t care!_ ” she announced and pulled Gendry’s face towards hers into another kiss. _To remind both of them, who was in charge here!_ But then Rickon pushed past Robb, interrupting them, “Me neither.” he growled, ”As long as I’m getting my armour now!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHY GENDRY IN THE EPILOGUE DECIDED TO GIVE UP HIS RIGHT TO THE THRONE:
> 
> Well, throughout the whole story I tried to show a Gendry, who is not happy as crown prince, who never liked the ‘job’ because of all the scheming and the falsehood at court. And the man he was in public (with the courtiers), was just a mask he wore. The real Gendry he only showed to people he loved, and even they mostly only got to see the real him away from the Red Keep. He always was the happiest at Mott’s shop and at Lommy’s and Hot Pie’s tavern, where people didn’t try to take advantage of him and just accepted the real him. So, it was not a big challenge or a huge leap of faith for him to give up his right to the throne. He probably would have done that years ago, if he hadn’t feared what Joffrey might do to the realm. But now he thought, why should he sacrifice his life and his happiness for the realm, just because his parents were too afraid to exclude Joffrey from succession? And he decides that is a sacrifice he is not willing to take, since there is a solution for the problem. Robert is still alive and no one knows about Cersei/Jaime (or maybe Arryn knew, but thought, since there is Gendry there is no need to act on the matter). Meaning, Cersei won’t get Robert drunk on the hunt, and he lives a little while longer. Also, Tommen is nearly 15 now, and not as shy and insecure as in canon, since he had a strong role model in Gendry. So, even Robert and Cersei should see, Joffrey is unfit to wear the crown and Tommen is the better choice, and actually wouldn’t mind to become king. And by resigning his claim to the throne, Gendry now forces his parents and the small council to think of how they could exclude Joffrey from succession. 
> 
> WHAT IMPACT WILL GENDRY’S RESIGNATION HAVE ON THE REALM? 
> 
> Margaery is naturally more than pleased, it gives her another chance to become THE queen next to Joffrey. And Joffrey knows he benefits from marrying her. By marrying a Tyrell, he gets the support of the second richest house/one of the biggest armies in Westeros. And already after the tourney, Joffrey knew with the Tyrells backing him, he could try to overthrow Gendry as soon as Robert dies. And Margaery was happy to join in that plot, as soon as she realised Gendry would not withdraw his proposal for Arya’s hand. And Littlefinger was happy to help them as well, he knew with Gendry and Arya as king and queen he wouldn’t get anywhere and Gendry never trusted him. So chances for King Gendry to remove Littlefinger from court were high.  
> But Olenna Tyrell isn’t willing to let her beloved granddaughter marry a monster, knowing Margaery could not appease Joffrey’s dark side forever. As in canon Olenna is confident Margaery could charm young Tommen to choose her as his queen. Thus, the Purple Wedding will happen in this AU story as well (probably a 2-5 months after this epilogue). The question is just is Littlefinger involved or not, since he doesn’t have to smuggle Sansa away. So, I leave that to your imagination. And in this scenario, Cersei will suspect right away, Margaery/Olenna were behind the plan; who she knows are smart enough to see Joffrey is a monster. But with Robert still alive and without proof, Cersei can’t accuse the Tyrells. Just secretly suspect them and start plotting against them. And the first thing she will do is to make sure, that Margaery stays away from Tommen.
> 
> So, you see, in the end no harm will be done by Gendry choosing Arya over the realm. In fact, if Gendry had chosen to remain crown prince, Joffrey would have lived much longer and could have caused way more damage.
> 
> FOR MORE END NOTES 
> 
> \--> Check the first comment under this chapter and the replies to it. There you will for example find out, who Sansa's secret suitor is (which only one of you had guessed correctly!)

**Author's Note:**

> WAS THIS THE LAST PART OF THIS STORY?
> 
> Kind of. But as you maybe have noticed, I created the series "What If ... He Were A Prince" and "That's Not Me" is the foundation for that series. I’ll publish one-shot chapters every once while (maybe 2-3 per year) for that series. And these one-shots (could) work as sequels for “That’s Not Me" or as standalone stories.
> 
> I’ve several ideas for one-shots, about how Arya and Gendry get along, now that the big problem (him being crown prince) is out of their way and maybe some of their adventures together. However, it's likely I won’t publish them chronologically. 
> 
> And one one-shot chapter ("The Gift") is already written and published. But all I want to say about it is, the events depicted in it take place about four months after this epilogue. So, check it out, if you need some more Arya/Gendry from this story's universe.
> 
>  
> 
> YOUR OPINION
> 
> Feel free to comment your opinion about this story. But remember, English is not my first language and this is just my second attempt on writing; I never had any training/lessons in creative writing. So, please keep your criticism constructive and fair and write in English, so I and your fellow readers can understand!


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